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Dr.    C.   D.    Center. 

The  ashes  of  Dr  Charles  D.  Cen- 
ter were  entombed  in  Woodland 
Mausoleum  Wednesday  afternoon  at 
5-30  Full  military  honors  were  ac- 
corded by  the  Hill-Emery  post  of 
^American  Legion.  The  services 
were  in  charge  of  Commander  Ralph 
Butcher  and  J.  W.  Primrose,  vjce- 
commander.  The  Rev  Phillip  John- 
son, chaplain,  officiated,  assisted  by 
Adit.  Chester  H.  Johnson.  The  col- 
ors color  guard  and  firing  squad 
were  in  charge  of  Capt.  Carl  Grim- 
mer. 


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Four  members  have  been  elected  presi- 
dent of  the  Illinois  State  Medical  Society: 
Dr.  William  Byrd,  1885;  Dr.  L.  H.  A.  Nicker 
son,  1912;  Dr.  Charles  Center,  1935,  anc 
Dr.  Walter   Stevenson,   Sr.7    1949. 


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For  a  i 

Anniversary 


M  0  T  0  R  ( 


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COPYRIGHT  1927 

CHAS.  D.  CENTER 

M.  D.— F.  A.  C.  S. 

QUINCY,  ILL. 


THINGS  USUALLY 
LEFT  UNSAID 


BY 


CHAS.  D.  CENTER 
M.  D.— F.  A.  C.  S. 


QUINCY,  ILLINOIS 
1927 


CL33W 

PREFACE 

In  presenting  this  narrative  I  have  no  excuses  to  make.  Much 
has  been  written  about  the  great  war,  chiefly  from  one  of  two 
angles.  The  first  that  of  the  enlisted  man,  or  the  company 
lieutenant.  The  second,  from  the  standpoint  of  some  one  con- 
nected with  the  General  Staff,  or  possibly  from  the  standpoint 
of  a  Division  Commander.  In  each  case  there  has  been  an  un- 
bridged  gulf,  the  space  and  distance  between  the  two  observers. 
Each  has  portrayed  his  experience,  and  one  sees  the  vast  picture 
largely  from  the  mud  and  trenches  on  the  one  hand,  while  the 
other  has  seen  only  the  workings  of  G.  H.  Q.  and  the  staff — 
those  formal  orders  which  made  up  the  daily  round. 

I  have  tried  to  throw  a  few  fascines  into  the  ditch  which  divides 
the  two  pictures.  No  doubt  there  are  some  inaccuracies  herein, 
for  it  is  especially  hard  to  keep  geographical  conditions  in  mind, 
particularly  when  one  sees  that  geography  but  once,  and  then 
perhaps  under  circumstances  not  conducive  to  a  clear  remem- 
brance. But  the  effort  has  been  made  to  steer  clear  of  the 
beaten  path;  to  show  the  things  as  yet  unshown;  to  forget 
romance,  plot,  and  all  things  apparently  necessary  to  make  a 
"best  seller",  and  to  paint  a  picture  which  because  of  its  verity 
may  make  an  impression  on  some  minds.  I  am  indebted  to  a 
number  of  officers  who  at  one  or  another  time  served  with  me, 
for  their  suggestions,  and  criticisms,  of  what  is  written.  I  am 
particularly  indebted  to  my  wife,  who  said,  not  to  me  but  to 
some  of  her  sympathizing  friends  who  knew  I  had  been  sent  to 
France,  and  who  questioned  "how  could  you  ever  let  him  go?" 
"He  wanted  to  go,  he  thought  after  all  his  work  and  training  he 
should  go,  he  felt  it  was  his  duty  to  go,  and  if  he  hadn't  gone  I 
think  I  would  have  taken  his  pistol  away  from  him,  and  taken 
a  pot  shot  at  him  myself". 

Such  sentiments,  from  a  devoted  wife  and  mother,  make  a 
man  act  a  man  whether  he  has  it  in  him  or  not. 


Some  of  my  friends  and  comrades  have  criticised  this  copy 
because  it  does  not  contain  all  of  the  middle  ground  material 
that  it  might.  If  there  should  be  a  decisive  cry  for  more  of  the 
war  stuff  it  can  be  supplied  very  readily. 

The  Author 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Chapter  One 9 

Chapter  Two 13 

Chapter  Three 21 

Chapter  Four 30 

Chapter  Five 36 

Chapter  Six 40 

Chapter  Seven 49 

Chapter  Eight 56 

Chapter  Nine 65 

Chapter  Ten 71 

Chapter  Eleven 82 

Chapter  Twelve 101 

Chapter  Thirteen 118 

Chapter  Fourteen 135 

Chapter  Fifteen 150 

Chapter  Sixteen 163 

Chapter  Seventeen 165 

Chapter  Eighteen 180 

Chapter  Nineteen 185 

Chapter  Twenty 192 

Chapter  Twenty-one 198 

Appendix  uA" 201 


CHAPTER   I 

To  me  an  autobiography  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  regretable 
incident.  It  smacks  too  much  of  the  personal  pronoun,  but  since 
this  account  is  only  for  the  purpose  of  leaving  a  record  for  my 
children,  of  an  historic  nature  within  the  family,  concerning  the 
family,  and  for  the  family,  the  dislike  and  distaste  for  such  an 
undertaking  is  more  or  less  cheerfully  assumed. 

The  name  "Center"  is  probably  of  Scottish  origin;  the  findings 
of  my  son  Donald  in  the  kirkyard  in  Aberdeen  will  partially 
verify  this  assumption.  However,  in  the  early  development  of 
this  country,  with  its  extremely  meagre  resources  for  perpetuating 
events  not  of  major  importance,  the  advent  of  the  first  Center  on 
American  soil  is  either  lost,  or  so  buried  in  obscurity  that  it  will 
probably  never  be  ascertained,  but  John  Center,  a  cordwainer  is 
found  in  Biddleford,  Maine,  early  in  1700,  and  there  is  con- 
clusive evidence,  that  a  Center  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of 
Lexington  who  died  two  days  later  as  a  result  of  his  wounds. 

This  immediate  branch  of  the  family  apparently  developed  in 
western  Massachusetts.  Nathaniel  Center,  the  paternal  grand- 
father of  the  writer,  married  Mary  Dewey.  Her  ancestry  can  be 
traced  to  Thomas  Dewey,  "the  Settler,"  in  1646.  Mary  Dewey 
was  of  western  Massachusetts,  and  as  Nathaniel  Center  and 
Mary  Dewey  were  both  of  humble  station,  it  is  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  they  became  acquainted  in  one  locality  where  both 
resided.  Mary  Dewey  was  a  taciturn  woman  whose  life  was 
both  rugged  and  hard.  She  died  in  Illinois  when  the  writer  was 
fourteen  years  old,  and  if  she  ever  gave  much  of  information  con- 
cerning her  birthplace,  or  the  birthplace  of  her  husband,  the 
matter  made  so  little  impression  on  the  hearers  that  it  never 
became  a  fact  known  to  the  writer.  Nathaniel  Center  died  in 
1844  leaving  six  living  children.    At  the  time  of  his  death  Mary 


Dewey  Center  was  forty  years  of  age,  and  it  is  my  dim  remem- 
brance that  Nathaniel  was  fifty-four  years  old  when  he  died. 

During  the  married  life  of  Nathaniel  and  his  wife  they  lived 
first  in  Washington  County,  N.  Y.  Shortly  before  his  death  they 
moved  to  Wayne  County,  N.  Y.,  where  he  was  engaged  in  farm- 
ing. Their  children,  in  order  of  birth,  were  Helen,  Hallett,  John, 
Dorr,  Eliza,  and  Harriett.  Helen  married  William  Blaine,  and 
died  at  the  age  of  seventy-nine  at  Fairbury,  Illinois.  Hallett 
married  Harriett  Hall,  and  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-four  at 
Watseka,  Illinois.  John  married  Sarah  Price,  and  died  at  the  age 
of  eighty-nine  at  Ottawa,  Illinois.  Dorr  married  Harriett  Allen 
and  died  at  the  age  of  eighty  years  at  Ottawa,  Illinois. 
Eliza  never  married,  and  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-two  at  Watseka, 
Illinois.  Harriett  married  Christopher  Poundstone,  and  died  at 
the  age  of  seventy-three,  at  Grand  Ridge,  Illinois.  Of  these 
children,  John,  Dorr,  and  Eliza  came  to  Illinois  in  1858.  Some 
time  thereafter,  all  the  children  and  the  mother  came  west. 

The  personality  of  Nathaniel  Center  was  said  to  have  been 
very  unusual.  He  was  a  man  standing  over  six  feet  in  height, 
with  flaming  red  hair,  of  a  very  hot  temper,  given  to  argument 
and  dispute,  and  withal  a  very  handsome  man.  It  is  said  that  he 
and  his  young  wife  were  an  exceptionally  striking  looking  couple, 
as  Mary  Dewey,  in  her  youth,  stood  six  feet  in  height.  Mary 
Dewey,  broken  by  hard  work  and  care,  became  a  reserved, 
reticent,  and  retiring  woman  in  her  later  years,  and  lived  to  be 
seventy-seven  years  old. 

Of  our  immediate  branch  of  the  family,  Dorr  Dewey,  born  in 
L838  married  Harriett  Allen,  born  in  1840.  Her  birthplace  was 
in  Wayne  County,  N.  Y.,  and  she  was  born  of  Solomon  Allen 
and  Susan  West  cot  t  Allen.  Solomon  Allen  was  born  in  Vermont, 
;in<l  some  time  in  his  early  lite  moved  to  western  New  York,  lb' 
lived  to  the  age  of  ninety-one. 

Susan  Westcotl  was  bom  in  Ireland,  and  so  far  as  known  was 
.in  orphan  when  she  married  Solomon  Allen.  She  lived  to  the  aire1 
of  eighty-five  years.  The  children  of  this  pair,  in  Older  of  birth, 
were  Eugenia,  Nathaniel,  Charles,  Lampson,  Harriett,  and 
Clayton. 

in 


In  1866  Dorr  Center  and  Harriett  Allen  were  married,  and 
went  at  once  to  live  on  what  later  became  known  as  Oak  Grove 
Farm  near  Ottawa.  John  Center  and  Sarah  Price  were  married 
in  1867,  and  the  two  brothers  lived  on  adjoining  farms  until  the 
death  of  the  father  of  Sarah  Price,  when  John  and  Sarah  moved 
to  the  farm  of  her  father. 

To  the  marriage  of  Dorr  Center  and  Harriett  Allen  were  born, 
in  order  of  birth,  Genevieve,  Charles,  Orlo,  and  Ralph,  in  the 
years  1867,  1869,  1872  and  1875.  All  these  children  were  born 
in  the  little  old  farm  house  on  Oak  Grove  Farm. 

It  is  a  matter  of  loving  and  reverent  pleasure  for  me  to  take  up 
the  characteristics  and  lives  of  Dorr  D.  Center  and  Harriett  Allen 
Center.  He  was,  first  of  all  a  consistent  man;  his  standards  of 
life  were  extremely  high;  his  sense  of  the  ethical  was  unusually 
well  developed,  and  he  never  varied  from  his  conceptions  of  duty. 
In  stature  he  was  but  five  feet,  eight  inches — the  smallest  of  the 
three  brothers,  if  not  of  the  entire  family.  The  most  he  ever 
weighed  was  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds.  During  the 
forty-eight  years  the  writer  knew  him,  never  but  once  did  he  lose 
his  temper,  and  his  self-control  was  a  matter  of  comment.  He 
was  the  most  thoroughly  peace-loving  individual  I  have  ever 
known.  His  integrity,  and  sense  of  justice  were  so  well  recognized 
that  he  became  an  unofficial  arbitrator  for  all  sorts  and  kinds  of 
disputes  and  disagreements  between  his  neighbors. 

His  education  in  schools  was  extremely  limited,  but  he  was  of 
the  turn  of  mind  to  continue  his  education  in  the  school  of  life, 
and  he  stored  the  essentials  of  knowledge  so  readily  that  finally 
he  was  enabled  to  meet  anyone  upon  a  common  ground.  He 
had  the  faculty  of  seeing  only  the  good  in  his  fellows.  He  was 
deeply  religious,  and  lived  his  belief.  He  was  very  tenacious  in 
his  ideas,  but  his  tenacity  was  of  the  passive  sort;  in  this  he 
differed  supremely  from  his  brother  John,  whose  tenacity  was 
always  of  the  aggressive  type.    Dorr  idolized  his  wife. 

In  some  respects  Harriett  Allen  was  his  exact  antithesis;  she 
was  also  deeply  religious,  and  lived  her  religion,  but  while  with 
Dorr  anyone  could  get  to -heaven  who  believed  in  God,  and  who 

11 


followed  closely  the  teachings  of  the  Golden  Rule,  with  her  there 
was  a  considerable  doubt  about  the  ultimate  destination  of  that 
person.  His  religion  was  a  constant  pleasure  to  him;  hers  was  an 
important  and  serious  undertaking  to  be  carefully  and  prayer- 
fully guarded  at  all  times.  The  difference  in  these  two  concep- 
tions of  religion  followed  in  everything  coming  into  the  daily  life. 
With  him,  if  things  went  wrong  today,  he  believed  they  would 
go  right  tomorrow,  while  she  always  retained  her  apprehension 
that  tomorrow  would  be  a  little  worse  than  today.  She  could 
not  be  properly  described  as  a  gloomy  individual;  if  she  felt 
gloom  and  worry  she  did  not  inflict  her  feelings  upon  the  family, 
but  she  can  be  described  as  a  serious-minded  person.  She  was, 
for  the  times,  well  educated  and  well  read ;  she  could  be  a  brilliant 
conversationalist,  and  often  in  public — particularly  upon  some 
church  occasion — she  spoke  fluently  and  eloquently  without 
previous  preparation.  She  was  of  much  sterner  mould  than  her 
husband,  more  strict  with  her  children,  more  unyielding  to  her- 
self. Her  devotion  to  her  family,  and  her  sense  of  duty  made  her 
a  martyr  for  she  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven  years,  worn  out, 
tired  out,  nearly  blind,  having  compressed  the  labor  and  love  of 
a  life  of  four  score  into  these  sixty-seven  years. 


12 


CHAPTER  TWO 

The  writer  of  this  sketch  probably  differed  very  little  from  the 
average  boy.  It  is  true,  that  as  a  baby  he  was  considered  petulant, 
bad-tempered,  and  not  robust.  As  a  small  boy  in  school  he  gave 
no  evidence  of  genius,  and  at  the  same  time  had  no  difficulty  in 
keeping  pace  with  others  of  his  age  both  in  his  play  and  in  his 
classes.  Though  undersized,  he  had  no  trouble  either  in  boyish 
athletics,  or  in  boyhood  fights,  in  maintaining  his  part,  for  a 
quickness  of  muscular  movement  above  that  of  the  average — 
which  remains  even  to  the  present  day — gave  him  an  advantage 
to  offset  the  handicap  of  size  and  weight. 

As  years  went  by  it  developed  that  he  was  a  bashful  boy,  and 
at  the  same  time  a  self-reliant  boy.  When  he  was  ten  years  old 
his  father  and  mother  went  back  to  the  old  childhood  home  in 
New  York  State,  leaving  the  boy — as  expressed  by  his  father 
with  "an  eye  on  the  house,  a  hand  on  the  barn,  and  with  Billy  at 
your  command  let  nothing  suffer  harm."  There  were  cattle, 
horses  and  hogs  to  be  cared  for;  it  was  in  the  month  of  August 
and  very  hot  and  dry;  the  little  stream  of  water  running  through 
the  pasture  failed  entirely,  and  every  day  the  lad  had  to  pump 
water  from  a  well  for  all  the  thirsty  stock;  the  pasture  dried  up; 
food  for  the  animals  became  so  scarce  that  they  began  to  break 
fences,  and  jump  fences  to  get  into  other  fields  to  get  food.  This 
meant  that  they  had  to  be  herded  on  the  meadows,  and  as  there 
were  no  fences  between  the  meadows  and  the  corn  fields,  the  lad 
"with  Billy  at  his  command"  was  kept  busy. 

Billy  is  worth  special  mention.  He  was  a  Morgan  colt,  and  as 
a  young  horse  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  animals  I  have  ever 
seen.  He  was  a  bay  of  so  rich  and  deep  a  red  that  it  was  almost 
mahogany,  while  his  streaming  mane  and  tail  were  of  a  lustrous 
black;  he  was  a  very  spirited  and  mischievous  horse.  Billy  was 
given  to  the  writer  by  his  father  when  the  colt  was  two  years  old, 
and  when  the  writer  was  ten  years  old,  and  the  boy  had  broken 
him  to  the  saddle — after  being  thrown  many  times — .     Until 

13 


Billy  was  four  years  old  no  one  but  the  boy  ever  bestrode  him, 
and  he  lived  to  be  twenty-six  years  old,  and  remained  in  the 
family  all  this  time. 

The  boyhood  life  of  the  writer  was  not  unlike  that  of  other 
boys  of  his  day  who  lived  in  the  country;  it  was  at  once  routine 
and  full  of  incident.  It  was  perhaps  fortunate  for  him  that  he 
was  the  oldest  boy,  for  this  meant  that  like  most  boys  on  a  farm, 
he  had  to  work,  and  being  the  eldest  he  had  to  assume  some 
responsibility  for  seeing  accomplishment  of  work  by  himself,  and 
later  take  up  some  responsibility  in  seeing  that  the  younger  boys 
did  their  work  also.  As  a  little  fellow  the  wood  box  for  the 
kitchen  fire  had  to  be  kept  filled ;  the  kindling  for  the  starting  of 
the  fires  in  the  morning  had  to  be  provided  the  evening  before; 
the  ashes  had  to  be  taken  out;  the  cows  had  to  be  driven  up  each 
night;  the  eggs  had  to  be  collected,  all  work  for  the  boys,  and  all 
coming  under  the  head  of  "chores,"  and  chores  on  a  farm  increase 
in  number  and  variety  as  a  boy  grows  older. 

At  the  age  of  eleven  years  he  began  to  "make  a  man"  by  driv- 
ing a  team  to  break  corn  stalks,  to  harrow,  and  to  do  work  of  that 
sort.  The  year  he  was  twelve  years  old  there  was  an  early  and 
very  severe  winter;  the  corn  husking  was  not  finished  when 
Thanksgiving  came  as  was  usual  and  one  day  in  December  of 
that  year  the  writer  and  his  father  husked  corn  when  the  mercury 
stood  at  eight  degrees  below  zero,  and  when  the  snow  was  so 
deep  that  they  took  grain  sacks,  drew  them  over  boots  and 
trousers,  and  tied  them  as  high  on  the  thighs  as  possible  to  keep 
the  feet  warm. 

Some  of  the  winters  in  those  days  were  very  severe.  The 
children  at  Oak  Grove  Farm  had  to  go  a  mile  and  a  half  to  "Chase 
School,"  and  one  morning  when  the  thermometer  showed  thirty- 
six  degrees  below  zero  Genevieve,  Orlo  and  the  writer  started  out. 
Orlo  quit  and  turned  back  before  he  was  well  started;  Vevie 
lasted  nearly  half  way  to  school  when  she  turned  about,  and  the 
writer  struggled  on  to  school  to  find  the  teacher  and  three  or  four 
of  the  larger  boys  huddled  about  the  big  cannon  stove  trying  to 
keep  warm.  There  was  no  attempt  made  at  having  classes,  and 
about  eleven  o'clock  the  teacher  sent  us  home.     In  the  winter 

14 


time  there  was  skating,  snow-balling,  and  rabbit  hunting;  in  the 
summer  fishing,  swimming  and  horse-back  riding,  and  in  the  long 
winter  evenings  plenty  of  reading.  It  was  a  point  with  the 
parents  of  this  family  that,  no  matter  how  hard  times  were,  no 
matter  how  many  other  things  were  denied  them  and  us,  the 
children  must  have  good,  wholesome  reading  matter.  The  result 
was  that  the  "Youth's  Companion/'  or  "Golden  Days,"  or  "St. 
Nicholas,"  all,  or  some  of  them  came  to  the  house  regularly  for 
many  years.  In  fact  the  Youth's  Companion,  which  began  to 
come  when  Genevieve  was  eight  years  old,  was  still  coming  up  to 
within  a  few  years  of  the  death  of  my  father — a  period  of  probably 
forty  years. 

Among  the  school  teachers  of  early  days  there  are  still  a  few 
who  stand  out  prominently  in  my  memory  for  one  reason  or 
another.  My  first  teacher  was  my  Aunt  Eliza,  who  hauled  me 
into  the  school  house  and  gave  me  a  switching  the  first  day 
because  she  overheard  me  say  to  a  crowd  of  the  little  boys  and 
girls,  "I  can  do  as  I  please;  teacher  is  my  aunt,  and  she  won't 
do  anything  to  me."  So  far  as  I  know  this  was  the  first  time  I 
was  ever  used  as  a  horrible  example.  Among  other  teachers 
remembered  was  "Professor  Long,"  an  elderly,  kindly  man,  tall, 
lean,  dim  of  eye  sight;  a  man  who  had  dropped  from  teaching  in 
larger  institutions  because  of  his  age  and  physical  infirmities. 
He  was  badgered  and  annoyed  the  entire  winter  by  the  boys,  and 
was  considered  an  "easy  mark,"  and  rather  contemptible  by  the 
girls.  The  next  winter  his  son  Jimmy — who  had  been  relieved  of 
his  duties  as  a  cadet  at  the  United  States  Military  Academy — 
was  employed.  Jimmy  was  not  as  large  as  several  of  the  big  boys; 
in  fact,  he  was  about  the  size  of  the  sixteen  year  old  ones,  but 
Jimmy  was  an  athlete.  He  pursued  his  quiet  and  unassuming  way 
for  the  first  week,  allowed  the  boys  to  show  their  hands  in  all  sorts 
of  mischief,  and  then  promulgated  his  rules  and  regulations  which, 
to  us,  seemed  Spartan  in  the  extreme.  We  decided  that  Jimmy 
had  outlived  his  usefullness;  that  Jimmy  must  be  taught  a  lesson; 
that  Jimmy  had  to  go,  but  when  it  came  time  to  put  our  plans  in 
execution  Jimmy  showed  us  that  his  Spartan  rules  were  like  the 
laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  unchanging;  we  tried  concerted 

15 


action,  and  Jimmy  took  on  all  comers  and  completely  discouraged 
us.  Then  he  took  us,  one  by  one,  and  larruped  us  with  a  two  foot 
portion  of  a  trace  from  a  work  harness,  and  after  that  double 
thickness  of  two  inch  width  of  leather  had  bitten  into  us  a  few 
times,  we  decided  to  be  good  scholars — so  far  as  that  term  of 
school  was  concerned. 

Then  there  was  Miss  Osterhaut  who  left  an  impression  on  my 
boyhood,  largely  I  think,  because  she  unconsciously  appealed  to 
the  chivalry  and  the  dramatic  in  me.  With  her  large,  appealing 
eyes,  her  low,  controlled,  well-accented  voice,  her  ability  to  make 
me  feel  the  climax  she  felt  in  a  crisis  in  history,  or  in  a  reading 
from  some  eloquent,  or  pathetic,  or  dramatic  selection  she  left 
a  permanent  impress.. 

And  Bert  Carson  who  was  first  of  all  an  example  of  practicality. 
Whether  her  name  was  really  Bertha,  or  Alberta,  or  something 
else  I  never  knew,  at  any  rate,  every  one  called  her  Bert.  She 
was  so  encouraging  in  her  attitude  toward  the  pupils,  and  so 
filled  with  the  belief  that  as  a  teacher  her  work  was  worth  while. 
She  did  not  need  Spartan  rules ;  she  made  us  feel  that  the  most 
desirable  thing  was  to  study  and  learn.  Because  of  what  will 
come  a  little  later  I  am  going  to  set  down — without  feeling  im- 
modest— the  report  she  sent  to  my  parents  at  the  end  of  the 
term.  "Charles  is  an  exceptionally  bright  boy;  he  has  studied 
faithfully  and  hard,  but  most  of  all  I  wish  to  commend  him  for 
being  a  perfect  gentleman  at  all  times."  While  my  breast  swelled 
with  pride  that  evening  when  father  and  mother  praised  me, 
still  I  felt  just  a  little  'peeved'  over  that  last  line,  for  I  knew  that 
if  the  other  boys  ever  heard  of  it  they  would  call  me  "sissy." 

And  the  next  winter  came  Bert's  sister  Fannie.  Bert  had 
secured  a  larger  and  more  desirable  school,  but  she  had  made 
such  an  excellent  teacher  that  the  board  of  directors  felt  sure  her 
sister  must  be  a  good  teacher  also.  But  Fannie  wasn't  Bert. 
In  the  first  place  she  had  a  fiery  temper;  in  the  second  place  I  do 
not  think  she  liked  children,  and  in  the  third  place,  we  found 
early,  how  easy  it  was  to  annoy  her.  It  developed  too,  and  was 
really  her  own  statement,  that  she  intended  to  be  very  'strict,' 
consequently  we  laid  our  plans  to  live  and  move  as  near  the 

16 


danger  line  as  possible  all  the  time.  The  result  was,  that  within 
a  month  I  was  sent  home  with  a  note  to  my  parents  saying  that 
I  need  not  return,  for  she  "would  not  permit  such  a  young  imp 
to  remain  in  school."  Again,  with  boyish  perverseness,  that  note 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  knighted  and  given  the  order  of  the 
Star  and  Garter. 

When  the  writer  was  sixteen  years  old,  his  father  rented  what 
was  known  as  the  Carman  Eighty,  a  farm  two  miles  from  Oak 
Grove  Farm,  and  made  this  announcement:  "Charlie,  you  are 
to  take  Kit  and  Flora  and  farm  that  eight}'  as  if  it  were  your  own." 
Kit  was  a  big  dappled  gray  Percheron,  and  Flora  a  big  bay 
Clydesdale.  Each  one  weighed  over  sixteen  hundred  pounds. 
The  distance  meant  an  extra  early  start  from  home  in  the 
morning,  the  taking  of  a  cold  lunch  for  the  mid-day  meal,  and 
a  drive  home  in  the  dusk  in  the  evening.  It  was  probably  too 
much  for  the  growing  boy.  At  any  rate,  when  early  Fall  came 
he  was  so  run  down  and  tired  out  that  he  became  sick.  From 
the  view  point  of  today  it  is  possible  that  he  was  poisoned  by 
working  in  corn  which  carried  "smut",  for  the  corn  on  the 
Carman  place  was  excessively  smutty  that  year.  At  any  rate,  a 
well  established  case  of  septicaemia  came  on,  and  the  result  was 
that  from  October  to  February  he  was  in  bed,  and  was  a  very 
sick  boy.  It  may  be  said  that  right  here  his  farming  ended.  The 
following  summer  found  him  in  no  condition  to  work. 

At  this  time  Aunt  Eliza  stepped  in  and  said  she  had  been 
wanting  for  years  to  go  back  to  New  York  State,  and  revisit 
girlhood  scenes  and  friends,  and  that  she  was  now  going,  and 
was  going  to  take  Charlie  with  her.  Inasmuch  as  the  boy  was  so 
crippled  from  his  long  illness  that  he  was  still  compelled  to  use 
crutches  to  walk,  this  seemed  a  most  generous  labor  of  love.  The 
Aunt  and  Nephew  started  and  were  gone  for  six  months.  To 
the  boy,  who  had,  practically,  never  been  off  the  farm,  the  trip 
and  the  scenes  were  a  revelation.  There  were  many  relatives 
"down  east"  and  each  one  was  kindness  itself  to  the  boy  of  "Dorr 
and  Harriett,"  and  the  result  was  improved  health,  and  regained 
locomotion  without  the  crutches,  although  some  of  the  joints 
were  still  stiff  and  sore. 

17 


It  must  be  that  the  winter  following  this  six  months  period 
was  spent  in  contemplation  of  the  trip,  for  there  is  not  a  solitary 
thing  remaining  in  my  mind  to  indentify  this  interval  of  time. 

When  Spring  came  again  it  was  plain  that  the  boy  could  not 
work  on  the  farm.  A  little  exercise,  a  little  exposure,  and  the 
joints  that  had  been  affected  became  sore  and  swollen  again. 
Inaction  was  one  thing  he  could  not  endure  so  he  decided  to 
become  a  book  agent,  to  try  and  make  some  money,  and  to  go  to 
college.  He  had  always  felt  a  desire  to  become  a  doctor,  and 
during  his  boyhood  days  had  experimented  with  cats  and  chloro- 
form until  nothing  but  bob-tailed  cats  could  be  found  at  Oak 
Grove  Farm.  He  had  even  sewed  up — with  black  cotton  thread 
and  a  cambric  needle — a  five  inch  cut  one  of  the  playmates  of  his 
younger  brothers  had  received  in  an  accident.  The  strange  part 
of  this  story  is  that  the  injured  boy  recovered  as  quickly,  and 
with  as  good  a  result  as  the  writer  would  have  obtained  in  later 
life  with  all  the  asepsis  and  equipment  of  a  surgeon's  office. 

The  illness,  the  incapacity  for  farm  work,  and  the  resultant 
inactivity  served  to  crystallize  his  purpose.  But  the  farm  was  not 
a  very  profitable  thing;  prices  were  low  for  all  farm  products; 
the  initial  purchase  price  for  the  land  had  not  yet  been  wiped 
out;  Genevieve  was  going  away  to  school,  and  if  Charles  went 
also,  he  must  find  some  means  to  finance  himself  in  whole,  or  in 
at  least  the  greater  part.  The  outcome  was  that  he  finally  secured 
the  agency  for  "My  Story  of  the  War"  by  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Liver- 
more.  It  may  be  said  here  that  during  the  '80's  the  elapsed  time 
following  the  Civil  War  had  not,  in  any  measure,  abated  the 
desire  of  the  people  for  more  "war  books,"  nor  had  very  many 
authoritative  works  on  the  War  of  the  Rebellion  been  published. 

The  physical  condition  of  the  boy  meant  that  he  must  handicap 
himself  and  his  efforts  as  a  book  agent  in  the  country  by  seeing 
only  one  or  two  prospects  a  day,  or  else  he  must  make  provision 
for  transportation.  Billy  had  been  drafted  into  farm  work  by 
the  needs  of  the  season,  but  there  was  a  spindling,  undersized 
colt,  two  years  old,  unbroken,  running  in  the  pasture.  On  request 
for  the  use  of  this  colt  father  said,  "Yes,  if  you  can  use  her  do  so, 
and  what's  more  I'll  give  her  to  you  to  help  you  through  college." 

18 


With  the  aid  of  Orlo  who  had  to  do  the  catching  in  the  pasture, 
Maud — named  so  at  this  time  because  of  the  new  dignity  which 
had  come  upon  her — was  gotten  in  the  barn.  A  few  days  were 
spent  in  getting  her  accustomed  to  her  new  owner,  a  few  more 
to  get  her  accustomed  to  bit  and  harness,  a  little  driving  about 
the  barn  lot  to  teach  her  to  guide  by  the  bit,  and  Maud  was 
ready.  So  far,  so  good,  but  there  had  to  be  a  vehicle  in  which  to 
ride.  Again  Aunt  Eliza  came  to  the  rescue.  She  had  an  old 
fashioned,  single  buggy,  long  since  antiquated,  and  relegated  to 
oblivion,  but  which,  like  so  many  articles  on  a  farm  was  just 
too  good  to  throw  away  entirely.  This  she  presented  to  the  boy 
and  he  was  ready  to  start  out  on  his  business  career.  Maud 
behaved  fairly  well;  the  neighbors  in  the  immediate  vicinity 
were  kind  and  sympathetic;  many  of  them  knew  of  the  long  ill- 
ness, and  the  reason  for  his  becoming  a  book-agent;  the  book  he 
had  to  sell  was  an  attracitve  story,  well  told,  and  well  clothed  in 
three  different  bindings,  and  business  was  brisk;  he  could  make 
from  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  three  dollars  per  sale,  depending  on 
which  type  of  binding  was  selected.  The  work  was  pleasant; 
the  weather  was  favorable,  and  the  boy  could  see  his  college 
course  coming  closer  and  closer.  It  is  true  two  dogs  made  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  his  legs  while  he  was  making  his  way  to 
the  doors  of  two  farm  houses,  but  the  fact  that  each  bite  meant 
the  sale  of  a  book  compensated  largely  for  the  slight  pain  in- 
curred. Then  one  day  Maud  decided  that  the  peripatetic  life  did 
not  please  her.  She  started  kicking,  and  before  she  had  finished 
the  old  fashioned  buggy,  and  the  old  harness  were  in  pieces  along 
the  road,  so  scattered  as  to  be  beyond  the  hope  of  successful 
collection. 

Looking  backward  over  the  years  it  becomes  apparent  that 
the  work  done  as  a  book-agent  was  among  the  most  valuable 
things  of  my  life.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  been  bashful  and  retiring. 
There  is  nothing  connected  with  success  as  a  book-agent  even 
distantly  related  to  these  traits  of  character,  and  common  sense 
told  me  this  early  in  the  game.  The  outcome  of  this  realization 
was  that  I  forced  myself  to  develop  opposite  characteristics. 
Also  speaking  from  the  stand-point  of  experience,  if  you  are  ever 

19 


a  book-agent  doing  business  at  farm  houses,  do  not  go  to  the 
front  door  if  the  farmer  has  a  dog.  Such  action  tells  the  dog 
that  you  are  a  stranger  with  no  legitimate  reason  for  being  there. 
If  you  go  round  to  the  back  door  the  dog  thinks  you  are  some 
friend,  or  neighbor  whom  he  has  forgotten  temporarily. 


20 


CHAPTER  THREE 

That  Fall  it  was  off  to  college.  It  is  surprising  how  little 
knowledge,  or  concern  about  entrance  requirements  the  writer 
or  his  family  had.  It  is  likely  that  if  the  choice  of  school  had  been 
other  than  it  was,  it  would  have  been  a  case  of  turn  about  and  go 
back  home.  But  the  school  selected  was  Knox  College,  and  at 
that  time  this  institution  had  in  connection  with  it  Knox  Acad- 
emy. The  new  student  had  no  credits  from  his  district  school; 
he  knew  no  Latin;  he  had  had  no  algebra  or  geometry,  but  after 
an  interview  with  the  Head  of  the  Academy,  who  in  a  measure 
gave  him  an  oral  examination,  The  Head  very  kindly  showed  him 
that  his  place  was  in  the  Academy.  In  passing  it  may  be  said 
that  one  year  in  the  Academy  enabled  him  to  pass  as  a  "con- 
ditioned" freshman  to  the  college. 

A  room  was  secured  with  another  boy;  a  place  to  board  was 
found  at  a  boarding  club,  where  we  paid  two  dollars  and  twenty- 
five  cents  a  week  for  twenty-one  excellent  meals,  and  school  life 
was  on.  At  the  Christmas  vacation  Mother  sent  me  a  whole 
roasted  turkey,  cookies,  jam,  etc.  That  vacation  no  attempt  was 
made  to  earn  money  for  I  was  new  at  the  game,  and  while  getting 
stronger  every  day,  the  family  had  thought  best  for  me  to  do 
nothing  but  school  work  at  first,  but  when  the  Easter  vacation 
came  on  my  money  was  running  low  and  my  ambition  high. 
Knox  College  has  always  been  known  as  a  place  where  young 
men  can  "make  their  way"  by  work  of  some  sort.  Several  boys 
I  had  known  at  home  were  working,  or  had  worked  their  way 
through  college,  some  of  them  at  Knox.  There  were  all  sorts  of 
ways  for  doing  this;  some  men  acted  as  waiters  at  restaurants  or 
hotels,  some  did  odd  jobs;  some  took  care  of  a  furnace,  or  a 
garden,  or  a  horse  or  cow;  some  sawed  wood. 

When  Easter  vacation  came  Tom  McGregor,  a  big  Scotchman 
who  was  also  in  the  Academy,  joined  me  in  looking  for  work;  we 
decided  to  saw  wood  as  this  was  an  occupation  where  we  could 
work  together,  and  as  it  was  work  calling — we  thought — for 

21 


very  little  training.  Our  method  of  job  hunting  was  to  walk 
down  the  street  until  we  saw  a  big  pile  of  cord  wood,  and  then  go 
in  and  ask  for  the  job  of  sawing  and  splitting  it.  At  last,  in  the 
rear  of  a  fine  residence  we  saw  a  healthy  looking  pile;  we  went  to 
the  front  door  and  rang  the  bell,  and  it  so  happened  that  the 
mistress  of  the  house  answered  the  door  herself.  We  stammered 
out  the  news  that  we  were  college  students  anxious  to  saw  and 
split  the  wood  for  her.  She  was  graciousness  itself,  but  she  ad- 
mitted that  she  knew  nothing  about  the  woodpile,  the  quantity 
there,  or  a  fair  figure  for  doing  such  work,  but  if  we  would  come 
back  at  six  in  the  evening  her  husband  would  be  home,  and  if  he 
had  not  made  arrangements  she  felt  sure  he  would  let  us  have 
the  job.  Until  six  in  the  evening  we  worried  over  the  chance  of 
somebody  else  being  introduced  to  that  woodpile.  Tom  roomed 
nearer  here  than  I  did,  so  at  six  he  went  again,  saw  the  owner, 
found  there  were  ten  cords  in  the  pile  and  that  the  owner  would 
pay  one  dollar  and  a  quarter  per  cord  to  have  it  sawed,  split,  and 
piled  up  in  the  woodshed.  We  took  the  job,  and  for  three  days 
we  raised  blisters,  lame  backs,  and  bad  temper,  but  we  con- 
quered that  woodpile,  and  divided  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
between  us.  We  really  divided  more  than  this,  for  the  lady  who 
had  met  us  at  the  front  door  fed  us  two  or  three  times  a  day  on 
pie,  or  cake,  or  cookies,  with  all  the  milk  we  could  drink. 

At  the  end  of  my  first  year  at  Knox  I  was  able  to  find  a  place 
in  the  family  of  Dr.  T.  R.  Willard — a  member  of  the  faculty  of 
the  college — where  I  received  board,  room,  and  laundry  for  my 
rough  clothing,  in  exchange  for  taking  care  of  the  stoves  in  the 
house,  milking  the  cow,  and  caring  for  the  horse  and  garden. 
There  was  wood  to  be  sawed  for  the  kitchen  stove,  too.  All  this 
meant  getting  up  at  five  in  the  morning,  or  even  earlier,  and 
getting  home  in  the  afternoon  earlier  than  I  liked,  for  little  by 
little,  I  had  worked  into  the  athletic  life  of  the  school,  and  was 
playing  both  baseball  and  football  with  the  "Preps"  the  Spring 
of  my  first  year.  It  had  become  evident  too,  that  there  was 
material  in  me  to  make  a  boxer,  and  each  day  I  worked  out  with 
the  gloves  for  half  an  hour  or  more. 

Dr.  Willard  had  two  boys,  ages  about  twelve  and  fourteen. 

22 


When  he  found  I  was  inclined  to  athletics,  and  especially  base- 
ball, he  suggested  that  it  would  be  all  right  with  him  if  I  would 
try  something  he  had  never  been  able  to  accomplish — get  those 
boys  to  work.  If  this  could  be  done  it  would  relieve  me  of  some 
of  my  chores,  and  would  really  be  doing  him,  and  the  boys  a 
kindness.  The  professor  was  a  rabid  baseball  fan,  and  in  his  day 
had  been  rather  a  fancy  player  himself.  He  also  suggested,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  that  perhaps  if  I  would  teach  the  boys  to 
box  that  I  could  better  control  them  and  direct  their  efforts. 
The  boxing  idea  was  an  excellent  one;  to  make  up  for  the  dif- 
ference in  ages — nineteen  as  compared  to  twelve  and  fourteen — 
we  used  always  to  have  our  set-tos  with  all  three  going  at  once, 
the  two  boys  pitted  against  me.  Of  course,  I  had  to  go  rather 
lightly,  and  pull  my  blows  in  order  not  to  hurt,  or  discourage 
them,  while  they  slugged  at  me  as  hard  as  they  could.  Two  good, 
husky  lads  of  this  age  can  make  it  fairly  interesting  for  anyone, 
and  the  training  they  gave  me  in  foot  work  and  ducking  was 
worth  more  to  me  than  they  got  from  me.  But  they  did  learn 
to  do  part  of  my  work  for  me  so  that  I  had  more  time  for  athletics. 

Life  at  Dr.  Willard's  was  pleasant  in  every  way;  they  made  me 
a  member  of  the  family;  Mrs.  Willard  called  me  "one  of  my  boys," 
and  before  living  there  very  long  I  was  sincerely  attached  to  every 
member  of  the  household.  More  than  this,  I  could  feel  their 
growing  affection  for  me.  The  amount  of  good  that  this  one 
family  has  done  can  never  be  computed  or  even  estimated.  For 
a  period  of  forty  years  they  have  been  entertaining  students  in 
the  way  they  entertained  me,  and  it  is  likely  that  at  least  twenty 
men  have  been  enabled  to  get  their  education  through  their 
kindness.  More  even  than  this,  the  example  set,  the  fatherliness 
of  Dr.  Willard,  the  motherliness  of  Mrs.  Willard,  their  high  ideals, 
their  beautiful  views  of  life  and  of  the  ethics  of  correct  living, 
their  home  so  full  of  "homeness,"  all  this  served  as  the  broadest 
kind  of  an  education  for  the  student  living  in  this  family  circle. 

It  may  be  said  that  during  part  of  the  time  of  my  physical 
disability  as  a  farmer,  father  had  strained  a  financial  point  to 
allow  me  to  take  singing  lessons  under  an  instructor  of  almost 
national  prominence.     This  instruction  had  proved  somewhat 

23 


remunerative  as  there  was  always  more  or  less  of  a  demand  for  a 
singer  who  could  serve  at  funerals,  celebrations,  and  occasions  of 
various  sorts.  Because  of  the  singing  ability  it  was  arranged  that 
during  the  summer  vacation  I  was  to  become  one  of  a  traveling 
troop  known  as  the  "Knox  College  Boys,"  who  went  from  place 
to  place  in  the  state  on  a  two-fold  mission:  to  extend  and  intro- 
duce the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  as  an  organization,  and  to  advertise  Knox 
College.  One  organization  paid  all  our  travel  expense,  and  the 
other  promised  freedom  from  college  fees  for  the  following  year. 
With  college  fees  and  living  expense  out  of  the  way  there  remained 
only  the  item  of  clothes  to  be  taken  care  of,  so  at  this  point 
mother  stepped  in  and  said  that,  as  father  was  paying  the  ex- 
pense of  Genevieve's  education,  that  she  would  buy  my  clothes 
out  of  her  butter  and  egg  money.  The  result  was  that  I  had  a 
summer  vacation  that  was  largely  pleasure,  and  returned  to 
college  in  the  Fall  apparently  in  excellent  health. 

Almost  upon  my  return  I  suffered  an  injury  to  one  leg — the 
one  which  had  given  me  the  most  trouble  during  my  attack  with 
septicaemia.  Later  in  the  season  it  was  hurt  again  while  playing 
football,  and  this  time  it  became  apparent  that  something  had 
to  be  done.  The  doing  was  deferred  to  the  Christmas  holidays 
in  the  hope  that  whatever  operative  measures  were  necessary 
would  not  require  more  than  the  vacation  period,  but  the  work, 
and  the  subsequent  convalescence  kept  me  at  the  Presbyterian 
Hospital  in  Chicago  for  ten  weeks,  and  then  it  was  evident  that 
I  would  have  to  depend  on  crutches  for  a  considerable  time  longer. 
This  was  the  first  time  real  discouragement  had  ever  come  to  me. 
It  meant  that  I  had  fallen  behind  my  class;  my  place  at  Dr. 
Willard's  had  to  be  filled  by  someone  else;  I  was  no  longer 
physically  fit  to  "work  my  way"  through  school. 

In  the  early  Spring  of  this  year  father  decided  that  the  old 
farm  house  was  no  longer  competent  for  our  needs;  for  years 
mother  had  kept  up  her  hopes  for  a  new  home;  if  a  new  house 
was  built  there  would  be  no  money  for  a  college  course.  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  had  any  voice  in  the  matter;  I  hope  I  did,  and 
hope  that  I  voted  for  the  new  house;  at  any  rate  the  house  was 
decided  upon,  and  crippled  as  I  was  I  helped  build  that  house 

24 


for  mother;  helped,  not  only  in  the  way  of  helping  to  furnish  the 
funds  by  not  spending  the  funds,  but  helped  in  the  actual  con- 
struction work.  The  contractor  was  a  friend  of  the  family,  and 
on  being  asked  by  the  writer  if  there  was  not  somewhere  that  a 
cripple  could  work  and  earn  day's  wages,  was  answered  "Yes." 
Then  I  was  set  with  instructions  to  make  certain  mortises  and 
tenons  in  the  foundation  timbers.  What  I  did  not  know  about 
this  kind  of  work  would  take  weeks  to  tell.  Then  the  contractor 
asked  if  I  could  lay  shingles;  he  had  another  job  which  had 
reached  the  shingle  stage;  of  course  I  said  Yes.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  a  few  minutes  watching  a  real  carpenter  lay  shingles, 
a  few  hours  of  practice,  and  I  could  lay  shingles.  I  had  to  go  up 
and  down  a  ladder  by  arm  power,  and  once  on  a  roof  I  had  to 
transport  myself  sitting  down,  but  before  a  month  was  over  I 
could  lay  more  shingles  in  a  day  than  any  man  the  contractor 
had,  and  I  laid  the  shingles  on  mother's  new  home. 

But  the  injured  leg  got  worse  again,  and  on  July  first  there 
was  a  return  to  the  hospital  for  further  operation,  and  this  time 
it  kept  me  there  until  October  first.  During  these  months,  part  of 
the  time  in  the  face  of  expectation  on  the  part  of  doctors  and 
friends  that  I  would  not  live,  the  decision  was  reached  to  give 
up  college  so  far  as  Knox  was  concerned,  and  to  begin  the  study 
of  medicine.  The  preliminary  education  required  before  trying 
for  a  medical  degree  was  not  as  great  as  it  is  today.  But  there 
was  the  case  of  "no  money,"  and  no  ability  to  "work  my  way." 

This  time  I  took  my  plans,  and  troubles  to  Aunt  Eliza,  and 
asked  her  to  loan  me  four  hundred  dollars  on  my  unsecured  note. 
She  replied  that  she  had  never  loaned  money  to  a  relative  without 
losing  the  interest,  and  frequently  the  principal  as  well,  and  that 
she  had  firmly  determined  never  to  lend  to  a  relative  again;  but 
whereas,  all  other  borrowing  relatives  had  seemed  to  be  good 
loans,  and  as  it  appeared  that  I  was  an  extremely  risk}^  one, 
perhaps  I  would  be  the  exception  to  the  relative-rule,  and  she 
would  let  me  have  the  money.  That  four  hundred  took  care  of 
my  first  year  at  Rush  Medical.  Right  here  let  me  say  that 
twenty-one  years  afterward,  the  note  was  paid  off  with  all 
interest;  it  might  have  been  paid  off  years  before,  but  it  was 

25 


carried  until  all  other  debts  had  been  cleared  away,  and  then 
carried  another  year  or  two  just  out  of  sentiment.  When  Aunt 
Eliza  cancelled  it  and  sent  it  to  me,  she  asked  me  to  return  it 
to  her  if  I  had  no  objections,  for  she  considered  it  in  all  respects, 
the  "prettiest"  note  she  had  ever  had,  and  she  wanted  to  keep 
it  always. 

That  first  year  at  Rush  Medical  was  spent  in  study  and  in 
getting  well.  The  first  half  of  the  year  was  spent  on  crutches  too. 
The  summer  vacation  found  me  in  shape  to  do  some  kinds  of 
work,  and  "male  nursing"  seemed  the  most  profitable;  this 
brought  in  from  five  to  seven  dollars  a  day,  and  usually  furnished 
board  as  well.  By  the  time  Fall  came  a  good  little-nest-egg  had 
been  collected,  and  I  faced  the  second  year  of  school  confident 
that  I  could  see  it  through.  It  was  in  this  year  too,  that  I  was 
elected  to  the  editorial  staff  of  "The  Corpuscle,"  which  was  a 
"medical  journal,  owned,  edited  and  published  by  medical 
students,  the  only  one  of  the  kind  in  the  world."  It  was  a  pretty 
good  publication  too,  and  had  a  remarkably  wide  circulation; 
copies  went  to  Canada,  to  England,  to  India,  and  to  other  foreign 
countries,  subscribed  for  by  medical  colleges  for  their  students, 
or  subscribed  for  by  the  foreign  students  for  themselves.  The 
advertising  we  had  secured  paid  all  our  expenses,  and  anything 
secured  from  subscriptions,  or  from  the  sale  of  copies  was  profit 
for  the  editorial  staff  of  six  men.  Then  because  some  of  the  six 
did  no  particular  amount  of  work,  it  was  decided  to  split  the 
profits  on  a  space-rate  basis  for  material  furnished  and  proof- 
reading done.  The  outcome  was  that  John  Ross  and  myself 
practically  divided  the  proceeds  from  this  journal,  which  gener- 
ally ran  about  one  hundred  dollars  a  month. 

The  second  summer  vacation  was  spent  as  a  traveling  salesman 
for  Armour  and  Company,  with  Michigan  and  Wisconsin  as 
territory;  this  gave  me  an  almost  ideal  summer,  and  it  is  possible 
one  of  the  financial  mistakes  of  my  life  was  made  right  here,  for 
the  company  was  so  well  pleased  with  my  efforts  after  the  end 
of  five  months  that  they  offered  to  send  me  into  the  Southwest 
as  the  general  representative  for  their  Laboratory  line  of  products, 
and  give  me  a  salary  of  twenty-two  hundred  dollars,  with  travel 

26 


expense.  The  fact  that  this  company  never  discharge  a  man  who 
does  good  work,  and  the  fact  that  twenty  years  of  continuous 
service  meant  an  assured  pension,  were  used  to  persuade  the 
young  man  to  stay  with  them,  but  the  idea  of  a  doctor's  life  was 
too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and  I  went  back  to  school  for  my  final 
year  well  fortified  with  funds.  In  fact  I  felt  so  rich  that  I  paid 
Aunt  Eliza  interest  for  two  years  on  that  note. 

Just  prior  to  the  date  of  graduation,  and  just  after  taking  my 
final  examinations  at  Rush  Medical,  there  came  a  call  for  a 
surgeon  to  take  up  work  immediately  in  three  iron  mines  on  the 
Gogebic  Range.  I  had  taken  the  competitive  examination  for  a 
place  as  interne  at  the  Presbyterian  Hospital,  in  Chicago,  had 
been  successful,  but  would  not  begin  my  duties  there  until 
October  first.  This  was  in  March,  so  that  it  appeared  that  there 
was  an  interval  of  six  months  to  fill  in  in  some  way.  With  my 
money  gone,  and  a  period  of  a  year  and  a  half  in  the  hospital  with 
no  way  of  making  money,  I  could  not  afford  to  waste  those  six 
months.  Hearing  of  this  call  from  the  iron  country  I  importuned 
Dr.  Holmes,  president  of  Rush,  for  this  opportunity.  At  first  he 
could  not  see  how  it  was  possible;  I  had  not  gone  through  the 
formality  of  graduation,  even  if  the  final  examinations  had  been 
taken,  and  even  if  I  had  been  notified  that  I  would  be  graduated ; 
also,  I  had  been  fortunate  in  taking  the  prize  offered  for  the  best 
graduation  thesis;  in  a  sense  I  was  a  show  figure  for  the  gradua- 
tion exercises.  But  his  objections  were  overcome  by  my  in- 
sistence that  I  needed  that  position;  by  my  promise  to  furnish  a 
man  to  impersonate  me  at  the  graduation  exercises,  and  the 
result  was  that  I  left  that  same  night  for  the  Gogebic  Range. 

The  impersonation  at  the  graduation  exercises  resulted  in 
something  more  or  less  humorous — depending  on  the  end  from 
which  it  is  viewed.  Arthur  T.  Holbrook  a  member  of  the  class 
after  mine,  had  agreed  to  appear  for  me.  When  the  diplomas 
were  being  distributed,  and  my  name  was  called  in  turn,  he 
gravely  stepped  forward  and  accepted  the  parchment;  when  the 
announcement  was  made  that  Charles  D.  Center  was  the  winner 
of  the  fifty  dollars  in  gold,  the  prize  for  the  best  thesis,  again  he 
stepped  forward,  gravely  and  modestly,  and  was  handed  the 

27 


money.  In  the  audience  was  a  young  lady  I  had  known  at  Knox, 
who,  at  this  time,  was  a  student  in  the  Art  Institute  in  Chicago, 
and  who  had  come  over  to  Central  Music  Hall  to  see  me  graduate. 
She  was  greatly  perturbed  at  seeing  this  stranger  respond  to  my 
name,  and  thinking  there  must  be  something  very  wrong,  she 
wrote  to  mother  telling  her  all  this,  and  asked  if  there  was  a 
possibility  of  foul  play  somewhere. 

My  departure  from  Chicago  had  been  so  hurried  that  I  had 
not  written  home.  A  letter  sent  to  me  in  Chicago,  by  mother, 
brought  no  immediate  reply.  Genevieve  and  her  husband,  living 
in  Chicago,  were  apprized  of  the  situation  but  they  knew  nothing 
of  my  whereabouts.  The  clerk  in  the  office  of  Rush  Medical 
did  not  know  of  the  substitution  on  the  graduation  program,  so 
he  could  throw  no  light  on  the  situation.  About  the  time  the 
family  was  ready  to  call  for  help  from  the  Pinkertons,  or  some 
one  else,  the  clerk  at  the  college  bethought  himself,  called  Dr. 
Holmes  on  the  telephone,  and  the  mystery  ended  very  suddenly. 

The  six  months  on  the  Gogebic  Range  were  spent  in  the 
practice  of  medicine,  and  in  serving  as  a  deptuy  sheriff,  for  there 
was  a  strike  among  the  miners,  and  that  country  was  destitute 
of  men  who  could  be  depended  upon  to  stop  the  rioting  and  the 
destruction  of  property  which  soon  ensued,  and  it  was  something 
of  a  new  sensation  for  me  to  do  my  best  to  inflict  injuries  when 
injuries  were  needed  to  stop  the  burning  of  a  shaft-house,  and 
then  turn  around  and  fix  the  injury  inflicted;  for  I  was  the  only 
surgeon  at  these  mines,  and  the  next  nearest  was  twelve  miles 
away  and  he  was  just  as  busy  with  his  injuries  as  I  was  with  mine. 

Then  followed  a  year  and  a  half  of  service  in  the  Presbyterian 
Hospital.  This  was  a  period  of  very  continuous  and  very  in- 
tensive work.  There  was  almost  no  moment  of  relaxation  as  the 
four  internes  were  supposed  to  be  on  duty  at  all  times.  However 
the  Superintendent,  discovering  that  in  the  past  one  out  of  each 
four  members  of  this  house  staff  had  either  died  during  his  term 
of  service,  or  developed  tuberculosis  during  his  term,  put  into 
effect  a  rule  that  each  interne  should  have  two  hours  relief  from 
duty  each  day,  and  a  full  half-day  additional  once  a  week.  The 
writer  generally  took  his  recreation  with  the  boxing  gloves,  and 

28 


during  this  year  and  a  half  had  the  pleasure  of  standing  up  in 
friendly  bouts,  with  several  recognized  professionals  of  meri- 
torious standing,  and  with  a  number  of  different  amateurs. 

Nearing  the  close  of  the  term  of  service  at  the  hospital,  the 
matter  of  seeking  a  location  presented  itself.  Dr.  A.  C.  Cotton, 
of  the  faculty  of  Rush  Medical,  asked  the  writer  to  become  his 
assistant  with  a  fixed  salary,  but  said  at  the  same  time,  "while 
I  want  you  I'm  a  good  enough  friend  to  say  that  it  may  be  years 
before  you  are  known  as  anything  but  an  assistant,  and  with 
your  ability  and  energy  you  can  likely  go  farther  in  these  same 
years  if  you  go  it  alone."  The  salary  offered  assured  immediate 
relief  from  the  wonder  and  worry  about  a  new  doctor  making  a 
living,  and  for  this  reason  looked  very  attractive  to  me.  In  all 
probability  the  offer  would  have  been  accepted  but  for  one  thing; 
Dr.  Cotton  was  a  specialist  in  diseases  of  children — a  line  of  work 
which  had  no  particular  attraction  for  me.  I  had  done  extra 
work  while  in  the  hospital,  with  both  Doctor  Senn  and  Doctor 
Etheridge,  both  of  them  well-known  surgeons,  and  felt  strongly 
drawn  to  surgical  work.  It  is  quite  likely  that  my  experience  in 
somewhat  crude  surgical  work  on  the  Gogebic  Range  still 
further  influenced  me  in  this  direction,  so  the  offer  was  declined. 

When  Dr.  Cotton  was  told  that  his  offer  could  not  be  accepted, 
he  again  showed  his  friendship  by  telling  me  of  an  acquaintance 
of  his,  Dr.  Henry  Hatch,  of  Quincy,  Illinois,  who  was  looking 
for  an  associate.  Correspondence  with  Dr.  Hatch  culminated  in 
an  arrangement  to  come  to  Quincy,  draw  a  salary  for  the  first 
year,  and  then  enter  on  a  partnership  business.  Shortly  after 
the  expiration  of  the  first  year  a  disagreement  arose  over  the 
interpretation  of  the  terms  of  the  partnership  contract,  and  we 
separated. 

Before  going  further  let  me  interject  that  Arthur  Tenny 
Holbrook,  who  impersonated  me  at  the  graduation  exercises, 
became  my  successor  as  chief  editor  of  the  Corpuscle,  and  in  his 
year  of  graduation  my  successor  in  winning  the  fifty  dollars  in 
gold  for  the  best  thesis. 


29 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

The  residence  in  Quincy  began  April  first,  1896.  On  September 
first  of  that  year  the  writer  went  to  Council  Bluffs,  Iowa,  and 
was  married  to  Edith  Campbell,  of  Summerside,  Prince  Edward 
Island.  The  wedding  was  at  the  home  of  her  brother  Charles. 
She  had  been  a  nurse  at  the  Presbyterian  Hospital,  and  the 
acquaintance  began  there  in  1890  when  the  writer  was  a  patient 
in  the  hospital.  At  the  time  she  was  married  she  was  assistant 
superintendent  of  the  Illinois  Training  School  for  Nurses.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  James  Campbell  and  Rose  Buxton  Campbell. 
She  had  been  educated  in  a  convent  on  Prince  Edward  Island. 
Her  father  was  born  in  Scotland  and  belonged  to  Clan  Argyle. 
Rose  Buxton  was  born  in  England,  and  as  shown  by  Burke's 
Peerage  and  Landed  Gentry,  came  from  the  lesser  nobility.  They 
were  married  in  England  and  emigrated  to  Prince  Edward  Island 
where  James  Campbell  became  a  well-known  man,  at  one  time 
representing  the  Island  in  the  Canadian  Parliament.  Their 
children  were  Flora,  later  to  become  a  daughter-in-law  of 
Senator  Frye,  of  Maine;  Charles,  who  was  an  engineer  and 
architect  and  who  lived  in  Council  Bluffs;  also  he  built  one  of 
the  early  bridges  there  across  the  Missouri  River,  and  further 
built  the  Montana  State  House.  Sidney,  who  was  the  captain 
of  an  English  liner,  plying  between  New  Orleans  and  Liverpool 
for  many  years.  Colin,  who  was  the  ne'er-do-well  of  the  family, 
and  who  disappeared  and  has  never  been  heard  from.  Harry 
who  is  still  living  in  Los  Angeles.  Helen  now  living  in  California, 
James,  who  lived  and  died  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire. 
Edith,  who  married  the  writer.  Edward,  who  like  Colin,  was  for 
some  years  a  worthless  fellow,  but  who  became  interested  in  a 
worthwhile  life  through  the  efforts  of  the  Salvation  Army  and  is 
living  in  California  at  present  where  he  has  gained  high  standing 
and  a  considerable  fortune.  Jack,  who  was  an  invalid  all  his 
life,  and  who  spent  practically  all  his  twenty-two  years  in  the 
hospital.  Of  these  children  only  Harry,  Helen,  and  Edward  are 
living.  From  the  best  information  obtainable,  the  father,  mother, 

30 


Charles,  Flora,  Sidney,  James  and  Edith  died  with  cardio- 
vascular disease,  and  all  in  middle,  or  early  middle  life  with  the 
exception  of  Flora,  who  lived  well  into  the  sixties. 

The  family  appearance  of  these  children  was  somewhat  unusual 
as  each  one  was  either  a  pronounced  blonde  or  a  profound 
brunette;  there  were  no  mixtures  of  the  two  types.  Flora, 
Charles,  James,  Edith,  and  Jack  were  all  blue-eyed  blondes; 
Sidney,  Helen,  Harry,  Edward  and  Colin  were  all  dark  of  eye, 
of  hair  and  of  skin. 

Edith,  the  mother  of  Donald  and  Arch,  died  in  April  1908. 
Following  her  request,  her  remains  were  cremated  and  the  ashes 
deposited  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean — the  ocean  she  had  learned  to 
love  in  childhood,  and  for  which  she  always  yearned. 

The  beginning  of  the  practice  in  an  office  by  myself  began  in 
February,  1898.  At  that  time  the  family  was  living  at  527  Lind 
Street.  During  the  late  winter  of  that  year  there  was  a  tremen- 
dous snowfall;  it  lay  twenty-six  inches  deep  on  level  ground. 
Nearly  every  one  took  it  as  a  huge  joke,  and  the  first  day  there 
was  but  little  attempt  to  overcome  it.  Business,  in  general,  was 
suspended  to  allow  every  one  to  look  at  it,  and  laugh  over  the 
snowfall.  The  writer  had  a  few  patients,  but  none  of  them  in  so 
serious  condition  that  they  would  suffer  if  not  seen  for  a  day,  but 
the  complete  suspension  of  business  in  all  lines  seemed  too 
Providential  for  the  young  doctor  to  overlook,  so  he  saddled  up 
"Thirteen,"  and  wearing  rubber  hip  boots  astonished  the  town 
by  making  calls  on  horseback — and  no  possible  chance  for  a 
call  was  overlooked.  As  soon  as  it  was  seen  that  there  was  a 
doctor  abroad  some  families  really  desiring,  and  needing  the 
services  of  a  doctor,  called  him  in.  It  was  hard  on  Thirteen,  but 
wonderfully  good  advertising  for  the  doctor. 

Thirteen  was  a  chestnut-sorrel  mare.  When  a  horse  had  to 
be  purchased  it  was  necessary  to  find  a  low-priced  one.  This 
mare  was  shown;  she  was  just  in  from  the  country;  she  had  been 
clipped  earlier  in  the  summer  and  had  sunburned  to  a  dingy, 
dirty  yellow;  she  had  a  big  grass-belly;  she  was  altogether  about 
as  forlorn  and  sorry  a  looking  specimen  of  horse  flesh  as  one 
could  wish  to  see.     But  she  was  sound,  seven  years  old,  and 

31 


looked  intelligent.  The  price  the  owner  asked  was  forty  dollars. 
More  as  a  joke  than  anything  else  he  was  offered  thirty- five 
dollars.  With  a  considerable  show  of  temper  the  seller  remarked 
that  "he  would  be  damned  if  he  would  sell  a  horse  and  halter 
for  thirty- five  dollars."  "What  will  you  take  for  her  without  the 
halter?"  "Thirty-nine  dollars."  The  sum  seemed  so  unusual  and 
so  altogether  preposterous,  that  I  bought  her.  The  date  was 
July  13;  39  was  the  third  multiple  of  13,  and  13  had  always 
appeared  to  be  a  lucky  number  for  me,  so  the  mare  was  named 
Thirteen.  She  was  in  daily  service  for  eleven  years,  and  then  was 
sold  as  "a  gentle  family  horse"  to  a  man  who  had  a  timid  wife 
and  five  small  children,  for  one  hundred  and  five  dollars. 

The  practice  of  medicine  was  altogether  satisfactory.  That 
first  year  of  less  than  eleven  months,  brought  in  $1648.00  in 
cash,  and  some  good  accounts  still  unpaid.  The  second  year 
ran  to  over  $3000.00  and  as  these  were  the  days  of  porterhouse 
steak  at  twelve  cents  a  pound,  it  was  possible  to  lay  up  a  little 
money.  Then  the  family  decided  to  move;  there  was  an  addition 
expected,  and  it  had  developed  too,  that  a  residence  nearer  the 
east  part  of  town  was  more  desirable  from  a  business  standpoint, 
so  we  went  to  1245  Vermont  Street.  At  this  house  both  Donald 
and  Arch  were  born.  Then  with  two  babies,  and  a  growing  prac- 
tice it  looked  logical  to  own  our  own  home,  and  1200  Park  Place 
was  purchased.  A  needed  loan  was  effected  from  Binkert  and 
Son  for  almost  the  amount  of  the  purchase  price.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  decide  whether  the  Binkerts  had  confidence  in  the 
ultimate  increase  in  value  of  this  property,  or  confidence  in  the 
paying  ability,  and  stability  of  the  borrower,  to  induce  them  to 
lend  so  nearly  up  to  the  purchase  price  of  this  property. 

But  the  mother  of  the  children  did  not  like  it  here;  there  were 
some  things  in  the  immediate  surroundings  of  which  she  did  not 
approve;  the  majority  of  her  friends  lived  further  east;  her 
health  had  been  failing  for  six  years,  and  it  was  necessary  for  her 
to  escape  the  summer  heat,  and  for  several  summers  she  had  been 
forced  to  go  to  the  far  north  for  the  summer  months.  An  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself  for  selling  this  place  to  advantage  and 
this  was  done.    Then  one  year  was  spent  at  1468  Vermont  Street 

32 


in  a  rented  house,  while  the  home  at  1671  Hampshire  Street  was 
being  built.  It  is  not  necessary  to  take  up  events  current  with 
the  residence  at  this  latter  place,  as  all  the  members  of  the 
family  are  familiar  with  them. 

On  June  1,  1909  the  writer  went  to  Cresco,  Iowa  and  was 
married  to  Louise  Pecinovsky.  The  wedding  was  at  the  home  of 
her  uncle,  S.  A.  Converse.  She  had  been  a  nurse  in  training  at 
Blessing  Hospital,  Quincy,  Illinois  following  her  graduation 
from  St.  Mary's  School  for  Girls  at  Faribault,  Minnesota.  Her 
father,  John  Pecinovsky,  was  born  in  Bohemia  of  a  family  which 
had  been  driven  out  of  Poland  in  one  of  the  numerous  Russian 
persecutions.  The  family  of  John  Pecinovsky  had  immigrated 
to  Howard  County,  Iowa  and  had  become  farmers  there.  The 
mother  of  Louise  was  born  a  Converse,  the  family  coming  of  old 
New  England  stock.  The  mother  of  Louise,  and  a  babe  in  her 
arms,  were  killed  by  a  stroke  of  lightning  when  Louise  was  only 
four  years  old;  Louise  and  an  older  sister,  May,  were  the  only 
surviving  children. 

From  the  marriage  of  Louise  Pecinovsky  and  the  writer  were 
born  two  sons,  Charles  Converse  and  Harry  Allen,  and  this  was 
the  family,  a  wife,  two  small  boys  ages  five  and  seven  years,  two 
older  boys,  ages  sixteen  and  eighteen  years,  which  was  left 
behind  when  the  war  broke  out.  To  be  exact,  however,  the  oldest 
boy,  Donald,  was  not  left  behind  as  he  had  returned  from  the 
University  of  Illinois  in  May,  1917  and  had  enlisted  in  the  Fifth 
Illinois  Infantry.  Later  he  went  overseas  with  the  Headquarters 
Company  of  the  129th.,  Infantry,  and  while  in  France  was  trans- 
ferred to,  and  became  Battalion  Sergeant-Major  108th.,  Trains 
Hdqs.,  and  M.  P. 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  memories  of  my  life  is  the  "wedding 
tour"  taken  at  the  time  of  the  second  marriage.  Both  the  bride 
and  groom  were  lovers  of  the  outdoors;  the  bride  had  always 
wished  to  do  some  "roughing  it"  and  camp  out  where  night 
overtook  her,  so  two  canoes  had  been  shipped  to  Aurora,  Illinois 
in  advance.  With  one  canoe  for  tent  and  luggage,  and  one  for 
the  newly  married  pair,  and  a  man  to  handle  the  second  canoe 
and  to  help  make  camp  and  run  errands,   with  camp  made 

33 


whenever  and  wherever  the  fancy  struck  us,  and  with  the 
journey  resumed  at  our  own  sweet  wills,  it  proved  an  ideal  way 
to  spend  two  weeks.  During  this  time  the  party  traversed  the 
greater  portion  of  the  Fox  River — the  prettiest  river  in  the  state. 

To  retrace  our  steps,  and  scan  a  little  more  closely  the  medical 
career  of  the  writer.  In  1899  he  was  made  secretary  of  the 
medical  section  of  the  Illinois  State  Medical  Society.  In  1900 
he  was  advanced  to  the  Chairmanship  of  this  same  sectioii;  in 
1902  he  was  made  assistant  general  secretary  of  the  Society.  In 
the  years  from  1899  to  1909  he  produced  various  papers  and 
monographs  on  different  medical  and  surgical  subjects  which 
were  published  in  one  or  another  of  the  leading  medical  journals. 
Among  those  published  were,  "Variations  in  the  Manifestations 
of  Malaria,"  "A  Glance  at  the  History  of  Medicine,"  "Acute 
Hemorrhagic  Encephalitis,"  "The  Influenza  Microbe  as  a  Cause 
for  Mastoiditis,"  "The  Educational  Treatment  of  Neurasthen- 
ics," "A  case  of  Apparent  True  Abdominal  Pregnancy,"  "The 
Brain  a  Good  Field  for  Surgery."  In  this  last  named  paper  he 
laid  down  the  dictum  which  still  holds  good,  that  the  brain,  out- 
side of,  and  beyond  the  corpus  callosum,  need  not  be  considered 
a  vital  part. 

In  1905  the  writer  was  made  assistant  surgeon,  medical  corps, 
and  assigned  to  the  Fifth  Illinois  Infantry.  In  1910  he  was  pro- 
moted to  Captain,  and  two  months  later  to  Major,  with  the 
same  assignment.  In  September  of  this  year  the  Fifth  Infantry 
was  sent  to  Fort  Benjamin  Harrison  for  duty  with  other  regi- 
ments of  the  National  Guard,  and  with  regiments  of  the  regular 
army.  Because  of  volunteer  services  outside  of  the  duties  of  a 
medical  officer,  and  because  of  the  satisfactory  performance  of 
these  duties,  it  was  recommended  by  the  officers  of  the  regular 
army  serving  at  the  Fort  as  instructors,  that  the  writer  be  trans- 
ferred from  the  Medical  Corps  to  Field  and  Staff,  and  that  he 
be  made  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  Infantry.  This  was  done 
October  1912. 

As  the  records  of  the  Militia  Bureau  at  Washington  will 
substantiate  this  statement,  it  may  be  of  interest  to  say  that 
the  medical  detachment  of  the  Fifth  Illinois  Infantry  ranked 

34 


the  highest  in  the  1910  inspection,  of  any  detachment  in  the 
United  States.  As  this  detachment  was  resident  at  Hillsboro, 
Illinois,  and  as  Captain  Clotfelter,  the  senior  assistant  surgeon 
lived  there  and  had  immediate  supervision  over  the  detachment, 
the  credit  for  this  splendid  record  is  given  to  Captain  Clotfelter. 
In  passing  it  may  be  said  that  upon  my  transference  to  Field 
and  Staff,  Captain  Clotfelter  was  made  Major,  and  became  my 
successor  in  the  Fifth  Infantry.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  be  re- 
moved from  this  assignment  after  the  regiment  went  to  Camp 
Logan,  and  he  did  not  accompany  the  medical  corps  overseas. 

Another  backward  glance  is  the  recital  of  the  disappointment 
of  1898.  At  this  time  Dr.  Nicholas  Senn  had  been  made  a 
Colonel,  Medical  Corps  United  States  Army,  and  been  given  the 
further  designation  of  Chief  of  the  Operating  Staff  in  the  Field. 
Dr.  Senn  was  to  go  to  Cuba  at  once;  he  selected  Dr.  Frank  Jay, 
Chicago,  another  young  Chicago  doctor  whose  name  escapes  me, 
and  myself  as  his  assistants.  While  getting  ready  and  waiting 
for  my  commission  to  arrive,  I  was  taken  with  an  attack  of 
appendicitis,  was  operated  upon,  and  by  the  time  I  was  physically 
fit  again,  Dr.  Senn  had  filled  my  place  and  had  gone  to  the  front. 
None  of  his  selected  assistants  ever  reached  Cuba.  Dr.  Jay  went 
as  far  as  Miami,  came  down  with  an  attack  of  dysentery,  nearly 
died  and  was  finally  invalided  home;  the  doctor  whose  name 
escapes  me  resigned,  and  the  man  selected  by  Dr.  Senn  as  my 
successor  could  not  pass  the  physical  examination.  While  this 
inability  to  get  into  the  military  service  was  a  considerable  dis- 
appointment at  the  time,  and  for  a  considerable  time  thereafter, 
the  mature  reflection  of  later  years  compels  me  to  admit  that  it 
still  further  serves  to  convince  me  that  "Whatever  is,  is  right/' 
and  that  "there  is  a  destiny  that  shapes  our  ends,  rough  hew 
them  as  we  mav." 


35 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

At  3:30  a.  m.,  March  26,  1917,  the  telephone  rang,  and  the 
voice  of  Colonel  Shand,  Adjutant  General's  office  at  Springfield, 
said,  "The  Fifth  Infantry  has  been  ordered  into  Federal  service; 
you  will  mobilize  the  regiment  at  once  at  the  various  home 
stations,  and  receive  further  orders  from  General  Barry."  In  a 
considerable  measure  this  did  not  come  as  a  surprise.  For  months 
the  units  of  the  regiments  had  been  having  extra  drills,  and  extra 
schools.  Schools  for  officers  within  the  regiment  had  been  going 
on  for  more  than  a  year.  Examination  Boards  had  been  sitting 
every  two  weeks,  in  order  to  weed  out  incompetents  among  the 
officers.  Because  of  these  Boards,  and  because  good  commissioned 
material  had  not  as  yet  been  developed  within  some  of  the  com- 
panies, several  were  without  company  captains,  while  some  had 
a  captain  and  no  lieutenants. 

On  the  morning  of  the  26th,  recruiting  began  in  earnest. 
Company  F,  Machine  Gun  Company,  and  the  nucleus  of  Head- 
quarters company  were  mobilized  in  the  armory  at  Quincy. 
Here  was  found  also  the  regimental  headquarters,  and  head- 
quarters of  the  65th  Brigade,  although  the  Brigade  did  not 
receive  orders  for  several  weeks. 

Almost  immediately  after  the  receipt  of  notification  from  the 
office  of  the  Adjutant  General,  orders  began  to  arrive  from 
General  Barry  commanding  what  was  then  known  as  the  Central 
District.  Under  his  orders  the  regiment  was  split  into  companies, 
and  even  platoons,  and  scattered  throughout  the  south  half  of 
Illinois,  in  the  state  of  Indiana,  Missouri  and  Kentucky.  These 
various  details  were  for  the  purpose  of  protection  over  essential 
industries,  and  the  railroad  bridges  necessary  for  trans-continental 
and  inter-state  commerce. 

It  was  a  busy  time.  It  was  at  a  season  of  inclement  weather. 
Equipment  was  meagre  or  lacking.  At  many  of  the  home  stations 
appeals  were  made  to  the  citizens  to  furnish  the  men  of  their 
home  companies  with  shoes,  underwear,  bedding,  etc.    It  is  to 

36 


the  credit  of  the  people  of  Illinois,  that  no  sooner  was  the  need 
made  known  to  them  than  the  need  was  filled.  Quincy  furnished 
150  bed  sacks,  72  pairs  of  shoes,  30  double  blankets,  and  other 
needed  articles.  Other  cities  did  as  well.  This  guard  duty  was 
irksome,  and  in  some  places  decidedly  dangerous.  A  long,  un- 
lighted  railroad  bridge,  with  spare  space  at  the  side  for  a  man  to 
stand  while  a  train  is  passing,  was  not  a  desirable  thing  to  patrol 
constantly.  During  the  three  months  this  duty  was  maintained 
the  regiment  lost  three  men,  killed  by  apparently  unavoidable 
accidents.  % 

In  June  the  railroads  were  ordered  to  supply  their  own  guards 
and  the  regiment  was  mobilized  in  three  cities — Springfield, 
Peoria  and  Quincy.  Quincy  had  Company  F,  Machine  Gun 
Company,  Headquarters  Company,  Company  B,  of  Jacksonville, 
Company  D,  of  Bloomington,  the  Medical  Corps  and  Regimental 
Headquarters.  These  various  outfits  went  under  canvas  at 
Parker  Heights,  Gardner  Park,  Quincy.  Not  long  after  going  into 
camp  at  Parker  Heights  the  Headquarters  company  was  ordered 
to  Springfield  to  handle  the  horses  and  mules  then  coming  in 
for  the  use  of  the  regiment. 

While  at  Camp  Parker  an  incident  occurred  which  I  will  never 
forget.  Late  in  August  the  writer  was  surprised  by  having  an 
unexpected  visit  from  two  venerable  men,  his  father  and  his 
Uncle  John.  In  spite  of  their  ages,  eighty-one  in  the  case  of  my 
uncle,  and  seventy-nine  in  the  case  of  my  father,  these  two  old 
men  had  braved  the  heat  and  discomfort  of  travel  to  come  to 
Quincy,  believing  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  a  short  time 
before  the  regiment  would  be  gone.  As  they  concluded  their 
little  visit  and  said  good-bye,  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  each 
one,  and  father  said  to  me,  "I  have  the  feeling  that  this  will  be 
the  last  time  we  will  ever  see  each  other;  I  hope  my  feeling  is  a 
mistaken  one,  but  if  it  is  true  I  pray  that  it  may  be  my  place  to 
go,  and  that  you  may  be  spared  to  your  family  and  country.' ' 
The  feeling  was  prophetic,  for  father  died  while  the  writer  was 
in  France — died  as  he  had  lived,  calmly,  and  without  excitement 
or  emotion.  He  had  taken  the  train  to  go  and  make  Genevieve 
a  little  visit,  and  after  cheerful  conversation  with  another  pas- 

37 


senger  he  remarked,  "I  feel  very  sleepy  and  think  I  will  take  a 
nap."  A  few  moments  later  it  was  discovered  that  he  was 
peacefully  sleeping  the  sleep  of  death.  Thus  passed  a  man  whose 
worst  enemy — if  there  was  such — would  have  said,  "He  was  a 
good  and  just  man." 

In  September  there  came  the  welcome  news  that  we  were 
ordered  to  Camp  Logan,  Houston,  Texas.  Entrainment  was 
accomplished  at  11:00  a.  m.,  September  13,  and  at  11:00  a.  m., 
September  16,  we  detrained  at  Camp  Logan.  At  first,  the  work 
at  the  Camp  consisted  of  clearing  the  grounds.  The  sector 
allotted  to  the  Fifth  Infantry  was  nothing  but  a  portion  of  the 
forest.  It  was  impossible  to  find  a  cleared  space  large  enough 
to  drill  even  one  company,  so  axes,  shovels,  picks  and  dynamite 
were  drawn,  and  the  work  of  clearing  begun.  In  four  days  the 
regiment  had  cleared  a  space  sufficiently  large  to  hold  a  regi- 
mental parade. 

Very  early  in  the  life  at  Camp  Logan  there  came  rumors  that 
the  Fifth  Infantry  was  to  be  converted  into  machine  gun  com- 
panies and  machine  gun  battalions  for  the  Division.  Naturally 
this  was  resented  by  the  officers  and  men  of  the  regiment.  We 
all  knew  that  the  Fifth  was  at  least  as  well  drilled,  disciplined, 
and  officered  as  the  average  regiment  of  the  Division.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  records  of  the  Militia  Bureau  for  1916  and  1917 
ranked  the  Fifth  Illinois  Infantry  very  high  among  all  National 
Guard  regiments.  But  there  were  two  grave  obstacles  in  the  way 
when  it  came  to  remaining  an  infantry  outfit.  One  was  the  im- 
perative need  for  transforming  some  of  the  infantry  into  ar- 
tillery, into  machine  gun  battalions,  and  into  Divisional  Trains. 
The  other  obstacle  was  that  Colonel  Wood,  commanding  the 
Fifth  Infantry,  had  unfortunately  incurred  the  enmity  of  some 
of  the  inspectors  from  the  regular  army,  and  a  short  time  before 
this  he  had  been  ordered  before  an  Efficiency  Board  to  determine 
whether  he  should  be  dismissed  from  the  service.  While  this 
Board,  which  in  a  considerable  measure  was  equivalent  to  a 
Court  Martial  found  nothing  on  which  to  base  a  recommendation 
for  dismissal,  still  this,  taken  with  subsequent  disagreements 
between  Colonel  Wood  and  officers  of  the  regular  establishment, 

38 


was  sufficient  to  cause  a  suspicion  of  insubordination,  or  in- 
efficiency. Our  fears  proved  well  grounded,  for  on  October  11 
came  the  order  that  the  Fifth  be  transformed. 

Headquarters  Company  was  to  go  the  129th  Infantry  as 
Headquarters  Company  of  that  regiment.  Company  A  was  to  go 
to  Divisional  Trains.  Companies  B  and  H  were  to  become  the 
Military  Police  for  the  Division.  Company  M  to  the  108th, 
Engineers  as  the  Train  for  the  outfit.  The  remaining  companies 
were  to  form  the  122nd,  123rd,  and  124th  Machine  Gun  Bat- 
talions. This  left  Colonel  Wood,  Captain  Fawcett  the  Chaplain, 
and  the  writer  as  "surplus  officers."  The  writer  was  immediately 
offered  the  command  of  the  122nd  Machine  Gun  Battalion, 
which  was  the  Divisional  Machine  Gun  Battalion,  but  because 
of  the  channel  through  which  this  offer  came,  and  because  of  the 
feeling  of  resentment  developed  over  the  breaking  up  of  the 
regiment,  this  offer  was  declined.  In  this  I  feel  that  a  wise  deci- 
sion was  made.  Had  this  command  been  accepted  the  writer 
would  not  have  been  sent  to  France  in  advance  of  the  Division, 
and  would,  in  all  probability,  have  remained  a  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  throughout  the  war. 


39 


CHAPTER  SIX 

The  appended  letters  written  at  different  times,  to  different 
people  during  the  war,  may  serve  to  cast  still  another  light,  and 
another  view  on  the  war,  the  results  of  the  war,  and  on  the 
results  of  the  war  on  the  individual  who  was  closely  concerned 
with  the  war. 

The  first  one  was  written  from  Camp  Logan,  about  November 
1,  1917,  and  was  in  response  for  a  communication  which  could 
be  read  to  the  people  of  Quincy,  who  were  to  be  gathered  in  an 
immense  mass-meeting  for  patriotic  purposes. 

"In  accordance  with  your  kind  invitation  to  say  something 
for  the  wives  and  mothers  of  Quincy  and  Adams  County,  relative 
to  the  men  who  have  gone  out  from  there  and  into  the  army 
service,  I  can  but  say  that  it  is  both  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure. 
A  privilege,  for  when  anyone  has  an  opportunity  to  say  anything 
regarding  the  men  who  have  given,  and  are  giving  unselfishly 
of  the  best  of  themselves,  and  in  fact  their  entire  selves  in  this 
hour  of  national  need,  one  is  doing  a  favor  to  oneself  in  re- 
counting these  facts. 

"And  it  is  a  pleasure  for  there  is  nothing  in  which  I  take  more 
personal  satisfaction  than  in  the  feeling  that,  in  a  small  measure 
I  have  been  concerned  in  getting  these  boys  and  men  into  service, 
and  in  directing  them  after  they  came  in.  More  than  this,  the 
majority  of  them  have  been  personal  friends  and  acquaintances 
in  civil  life;  some  of  them  I  have  known  since  boyhood;  most  of 
them  I  have  known  so  well  that  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
addressing  them  by  their  given  names,  and  they  have  come  to 
be  almost  as  the  members  of  my  own  family. 

"There  is  no  doubt  that  the  first  thought  entering  the  mind 
of  the  relatives  of  these  men  is,  'Are  they  well  taken  care  of?' 
To  this  there  is  but  one  answer,  'Yes.'  A  moment  of  reflection 
will  convince  anyone  that  this  answer  is  the  truth,  for  Uncle 
Sam  is  trying  to  make  the  most  efficient  army  the  world  has  ever 
seen,  and  in  order  to  do  this  he  must  take  good  care  of  the  in- 

40 


dividual  in  the  army.  The  result  is  that  food — good  food,  ample 
food,  and  a  variety  of  food — is  furnished  them.  Then  he  shelters 
his  men;  there  are  the  big,  roomy,  pyramidal  tents,  boarded  up, 
now  that  winter  is  coming,  to  a  height  of  three  feet  on  all  sides. 
Not  content  with  this,  a  small  wood  stove  is  installed  in  each 
tent.  The  clothing  is  ample,  and  so  good  that  it  is  becoming  a 
custom  with  the  officers  of  the  army  to  go  to  the  quartermaster, 
and  buy  clothing  designed  and  manufactured  for  the  enlisted 
man,  for  the  personal  use  of  that  officer.  This  does  not  rob  any 
enlisted  man,  for  the  supply  of  clothing  is  adequate  at  all  times. 

"If  for  any  reason  the  enlisted  man  falls  sick,  there  is  a  doctor 
on  the  job  immediately,  for  Uncle  Sam  can  do  nothing  with  an 
army  of  sick  men.  He  does  all  in  his  power  to  prevent  sickness, 
and  to  return  the  occasional  sick  man  to  health  and  duty  as 
soon  as  possible. 

"Then  there  is  another  factor  in  the  care  of  the  men — one 
never  considered  by  the  civilian — that  factor  is  that  each  com- 
pany commander  has  a  pride  in  his  company;  in  order  to  be  able 
to  maintain  that  pride  he  must  make,  and  keep  this  company  in 
good  and  fit  condition  all  the  time. 

"Of  course  the  soldier  has  to  work.  Work  is  good  for  him, 
but  this  work  is  well-directed,  well  considered,  and  the  man  is 
the  better  physically,  morally  and  mentally  for  the  work.  All 
things  considered  well  regulated  army  life  is  the  most  conducive 
life  there  is  in  time  of  peace — or  perhaps  better  to  say,  in  time 
of  active  training — for  the  physical  well-being,  the  moral  well- 
being,  and  the  mental  well-being  of  the  individual. 

"Another  thing  to  consider  is  this:  No  matter  what  the  out- 
come, no  matter  whether  all,  or  none  of  these  boys  come  back  to 
us  again,  in  either  case  the  city  and  county  has  a  right  to,  and 
cannot  be  true  to  its  own  prerogatives,  if  there  is  not  an  exceeding 
pride  in  these  men  who  have  gone  to  the  front.  As  Governor 
Lowden  said  in  his  Houston  Address,  'These  are  our  boys; 
Illinois  can  give  none  better,  for  they  are  our  best/  and  as  the 
years  roll  by,  and  this  war  passes  into  history — this  history 
showing  the  state  and  nation  stronger,  more  virile,  more  pure 

41 


and  safe  because  of  these  boys  who  today  are  offering  themselves 
so  gallantly  and  so  joyously — we  who  are  privileged  to  see  the 
making  of  such  history,  should  be  proud  of  the  opportunity,  and 
prouder  still  of  the  men  who  furnished  the  opportunity.  Keep  it 
before  the  people  of  this,  and  other  lands  that  these  men  are 
not  serfs;  they  are  not  men  who  are  going  to  face  the  terrors  and 
horrors  of  war  because  of  compulsion;  they  are  men  who  realize 
the  need  of  the  hour,  whose  foresight  is  keen  enough  to  show 
them  the  Nation's  danger;  whose  high-springing  spirits,  whose 
love  for  doing  the  part  of  a  man,  and  whose  training  and  in- 
clination is  to  take  a  man's  part  in  the  greatest  game  the  civilized 
world  has  ever  known;  it  makes  the  thought  of  cold,  of  fatigue, 
of  mud  and  exhaustion,  of  wounds  or  death  seem  a  light  matter. 
The  adventuous  and  daring  spirit  of  youth  comes  but  once. 
Many  are  denied  the  opportunity  of  finding  egress  for  the  natural 
desire  of  the  strong  man  to  put  his  muscular  strength  against 
that  of  his  fellows — the  pleasure  in  striving  for  the  mastery,  and 
in  striving  with  all  his  thews  and  sinews.  We  of  today  have  that 
opportunity;  we  have  a  chance  to  play  the  game,  and  in  playing 
the  game  to  play  the  man  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term.  We 
can  fight  for  the  love  of  fighting,  for  the  protection  of  our  homes 
and  families,  for  the  anguished  and  oppressed  of  other  lands,  for 
the  safety  and  betterment  of  the  world,  and  for  the  establishment 
within  the  world  of  a  universal  democracy;  and  we  can  fight  for 
the  down-throwing  of  autocracy,  of  rapine,  of  lust,  of  monarch- 
ical murder,  and  against  the  blasphemous  utterances  of  a  self- 
inflated,  imperial  egotist. 

"To  the  mother  whose  boy  is  at  the  front  this  must  seem  a 
righteous  war,  and  even  though  the  heart-strings  are  played 
upon  almost  to  breaking,  she  can  be  proud  that  blood  of  her 
blood,  a  son  whom  she  carried,  and  nursed,  and  raised  to  man- 
hood is  of  the  stuff  that  will  not  sit  calmly  in  cowardice  or  in- 
difference at  home  at  such  a  time  as  this. 

"Nor  is  this  all,  the  iron  has  not  yet  entered  sufficiently  into 
the  soul.  Pitted  as  we  are  against  a  treacherous  and  brutal  foe, 
and  a  foe  who  has  been  in  preparation  for  the  last  sixty  years, 
whose  plans  were  perfected  in  times  of  peace  and  quiet,  who  has 

42 


no  scruples  and  who  hesitates  at  no  atrocity  in  his  efforts  to 
conquer  the  world — and  I  use  the  word  " World"  advisedly — 
whose  brutal  strength  is  so  great,  and  whose  devilish  cunning  so 
unscrupulous,  bearing  all  these  things  in  mind  I  say  to  you  that 
the  wives  and  mothers,  the  sisters  and  sweethearts  of  this  land 
have  not  yet  given  enough.    In  the  light  of  human  vision  at  the 
present  time,  the  only  apparent  chance  for  an  early  peace  lies 
in  the  revolt  of  the  German  nation  against  its  emperor,  or  in  the 
death  of  that  emperor,   and  certainly  it  is  no  crime  to  hope 
devoutly,  that  either  of  these  alternatives  may  come  to  pass. 
Nero  slew  and  burned;  his  crimes  stank  to  heaven,  but  even 
Nero — before  the  judgment  seat  of  God — has  no  more  to  answer 
for  than  has  the  German  Kaiser.    Remember  the  brutal  murder 
of  the  Belgian  nation;  the  defilement  of  hundreds  of  Belgian  and 
French  women,   the  multilation  of  innocent  children,  and  the 
actual  crucifixion  of  aged  men.    This  war  is  horrible,  more  hor- 
rible than  any  the  civilized  world  has  ever  known.     Turn  the 
pages  of  your  histories;  find,  if  you  can,  any  account  of  where 
strong  men  by  the  scores  have  gone  insane  because  of  the  hor- 
rible sights  and  sounds  they  are  called  upon  to  endure  in  the 
theatre  of  action.    Show  me  any  instance  in  history  where  whole 
platoons,  yes,  whole  companies  have  instantaneously  disappeared 
until  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  humanity  to  show  where,  one 
instant  before,  strong  and  gallant  men  had  been  standing.    You 
mothers  and  sisters  of  Adams  County,  your  boys,  hale,  strong, 
brave,  with  the  fires  of  determination  gleaming  in  their  eyes  as 
no   fire   ever  gleamed   before,   are  facing  these  facts   bravely, 
calmly,  even  eagerly — eager  to  "get  in"  and  to  help  wipe  from 
the  fair  face  of  earth  this  hellish  stain.  They  are  doing  it  for  you; 
they  are  doing  it  for  their  children  and  their  grand-children, 
both  generations  as  yet  unborn.  They  are  doing  it  for  themselves, 
for  their  love  of  freedom,  of  decency,  of  respect  for  law,  and  out 
of  the  reverence  for  clean  womanhood  which  they  drew  in  with 
their  baby  breath,  and  which  they  learned  while  leaning  against 
your  knees.      Their  up-bringing,   their  teachings  makes  them 
honor  their  manhood  by  wanting  to  fight,  and  to  die  if  need  be, 
to  honor  these  ideals.    Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  make  their  burden 
any  more  heavy  by  being  anything  other  than  heroic  yourself. 

43 


Just  as  "he  is  thrice  armed  whose  cause  is  just,"  so  is  he  thrice 
energized  whose  friends  and  family  say  to  him,  "Go  and  do  a 
man's  part." 

There  is  plenty  of  work  for  us  all.  There  is  no  gain  in  trying 
to  dodge  the  issue,  nor  to  shrink  looking  danger  in  the  face.  It 
would  be  just  as  sensible  to  clap  the  hands  over  the  face  at  the 
approach  of  a  cyclone,  and  try  to  feel  secure  because  the  sight 
of  nearing  danger  has  been  obscured,  as  it  is  to  try  to  dodge  the 
issue  now.  It  is  just  as  certain  that  we  will  win  as  it  is  that  there 
is  a  God  in  heaven,  but  whether  the  end  will  come  in  one  year, 
or  in  ten  years  remains  with  the  people  of  the  United  States.  If 
we  give  niggardly,  grudgingly,  selfishly  of  our  money,  our 
munitions,  and  our  men  what  will  be  the  result?  I  can  tell  you. 
It  will  mean  added  years  of  war;  it  will  mean  for  each  twelve 
months  of  that  continuation,  fifty  thousand  more  graves  of 
American  soldiers;  one  hundred  thousand  more  permanent 
cripples  here  at  home;  thirty  billion  dollars  more  for  each  twelve 
months;  it  will  mean  more  hardships  at  home,  more  bereaved 
mothers  and  wives,  more  fatherless  children. 

We  are  in  the  war,  and  God  forbid  that  anyone  should  be 
other  than  thankful,  that  this  nation,  representing  as  it  does 
freedom,  honor,  justice,  should  be  anywhere  else  than  in  the 
war.  Let  each  help  to  carry  the  burden  not  only  of  the  nation, 
but  of  each  other.  Just  as  the  tired  soldier  in  the  ranks,  who — 
although  almost  ready  to  drop — takes  the  rifle  or  the  pack  of 
the  man  at  his  side  who  is  even  more  tired  than  himself.  Let 
each  one  hide,  conceal  and  bury  the  grief,  the  anxiety,  the 
weight  of  sorrow,  and  help  that  one  perhaps  less  able  than  him- 
self. It  is  a  horrible  war;  all  the  dogs  of  hell  are  let  loose;  but  it 
is  a  glorious  war  since  out  of  this  world-strife  and  awful  carnage, 
a  lasting  and  just  peace,  a  righteous  peace  must  come." 

5j<  ;jc  %:  HJ  >H  * 

For  nearly  a  month  the  status  of  "surplus  officer"  remained. 
Then  came  a  Division  order  directing  me  to  take  command  of 
the  108th  Ammunition  Train.  The  7th  Illinois  Infantry  like  the 
Fifth,  and  on  the  same  date,  had  been  transformed  into  the 
Ammunition  Train  and  the  Supply  Train.     Colonel  Moriarty, 

44 


commanding  the  Seventh  Infantry  had  been  made  Commander 
of  Trains  and  Military  Police,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  Clasby 
had  been  made  commander  of  the  Ammunition  Train.  It 
developed  that  Colonel  Clasby  was  not  proving  satisfactory  in 
this  command,  and  he  resigned  the  service. 

On  November  16th,  the  writer  assumed  command  of  the 
Ammunition  Train.  It  appeared  at  once  that  both  officers  and 
men  were  extremely  disgruntled.  The  writer  was  told  later  by 
some  of  the  officers  of  this  organization,  that  a  reputation  as  a 
rigid  martinet  had  preceded  him,  and  that  it  had  been  mutually 
agreed  to  make  it  as  unpleasant  for  him  as  possible ;  they  were  all 
friendly  to  Colonel  Clasby  and  to  Colonel  Moriarty,  and  felt 
that  my  superseding  Colonel  Clasby  came  about  through  efforts 
of  my  own.  In  fact  a  few  days  after  the  order  was  issued  my 
immediate  superior  officer,  Colonel  Moriarty,  said  to  me,  "How 
did  you  manage  to  put  it  over,  Center?"  If  he  had  known  that 
the  one  place  in  the*  33rd  Division  which,  above  all  else,  I  did 
not  want  was  the  Trains,  he  could  have  spared  himself  the 
question. 

But  once  on  the  job,  pride  in  myself  and  a  desire  to  do  my 
part  came  uppermost  in  mind.  Within  twenty-four  hours  I  had 
my  plans  for  whipping  that  outfit  into  shape.  It  appeared  that 
for  six  weeks  there  had  been  no  order  of  exercise  for  these  men; 
company  officers  drilled  their  men  only  as  they  felt  inclined; 
there  were  no  setting-up  exercises,  no  gymnastics,  no  play,  no 
work.  It  is  a  wonder  that  these  men,  Irish,  Italians,  Jews,  and 
various  foreign  races  from  the  Stock  Yards  district  of  Chicago, 
had  not  become  more  disorganized  than  they  had;  nothing  but 
the  fact  that  there  were  a  few  excellent  company  officers  had 
prevented  it. 

The  officers  were  called  together  and  told  in  a  friendly  way, 
but  firmly,  that  there  must  be  general  improvement  in  the  or- 
ganization; that  it  was  up  to  each  officer  to  prove  his  ability  to 
hold  his  position.  Drills  and  physical  exercises  covering  eight 
hours  a  day  were  established,  and  the  writer  spent  most  of  his 
time  on  the  drill  ground.  Almost  at  once  it  appeared  that  some 
of  the  officers  were  inefficient;  some  who  felt  their  inefficiency 

45 


came  up  and  asked  to  be  directed  along  lines  to  make  themselves 
efficient;  the  majority  of  the  officers  were  good,  intelligent,  hard- 
working fellows  who  only  needed  direction  and  a  firm  hand  to 
make  them  A-l  officers;  this  statement  is  proved  by  the  records 
they  made  later. 

The  work  was  at  once  pleasant  and  unpleasant;  I  could  feel 
the  undercurrent  of  antagonism  on  the  part  of  some  of  the 
officers,  while  on  the  other  hand,  some  of  them  co-operated 
heartily  when  they  found  that  all  my  energy  was  directed  to  one 
end,  and  that  end  was  to  secure  benefits  for  them;  that  I  did 
not  intend  to  spare  myself  in  attaining  that  end,  nor  did  I  intend 
to  make  it  unpleasant  for  them  to  reach  that  goal.  I  have  always 
felt  that  some  of  the  antagonism  on  the  part  of  some  of  these 
officers  was  fostered  and  directed — at  least  to  some  degree — by 
Colonel  Moriarty,  my  immediate  superior  officer. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  days  an  order  came  through  from  the 
Division  requiring  me  to  cite  any  and  all* officers  of  the  Am- 
munition Train  whom  I  considered  inefficient,  as  these  men  would 
be  sent  before  the  Efficiency  Board  then  sitting  within  the 
Division.  This  was  done.  Three  days  after  these  names  had  been 
sent  in  came  another  order  from  the  commanding  General, 
saying,  "You  will  assume  command  of  the  108th  Trains  and 
Military  Police  in  addition  to  your  other  duties."  Colonel 
Moriarty  had  been  relieved  of  his  command  by  the  General 
commanding  the  Division,  and  as  a  result  resigned  from  the 
service. 

This  order  reached  me  about  1 1 :00  a.  m.  As  quickly  as  possible, 
and  in  company  with  Captain  Stine  who  was  my  Adjutant  in 
the  Ammunition  Train,  I  went  to  Trains  Headquarters,  had  an 
interview  with  Captain  Sexton  the  adjutant  of  Trains  Head- 
quarters, gave  him  directions  for  immediate  course  of  action 
for  the  day,  went  over  the  standing  orders  at  Trains  Head- 
quarters, and  picked  up  from  Captain  Sexton  such  information 
of  the  work  of  Trains  and  Military  Police  as  he  could  give  me. 
I  had  never  met  Captain  Sexton  before,  but  while  returning  to 
my  headquarters  at  the  Ammunition  Train,  expressed  myself 
to  Captain  Stine  to  the  effect  that  I  was  not  well  impressed  with 

46 


Captain  Sexton;  that  I  feared  he  was  not  the  man  for  that  posi- 
tion; that  he  affected  me  as  a  man  who  did  not  have  adequate 
comprehension  of  his  position  and  his  duties.  I  mention  this  to 
show  the  reaction  he  had  on  me,  and  to  offer  it,  in  a  measure,  as 
justification  for  the  action  of  my  successor  Colonel  Clinnin. 

It  was  now  about  four  p.  m.  At  seven  p.  m.,  an  order  came  to 
me  from  Division  Headquarters,  "You  will  proceed  at  once  to 
Hoboken,  reporting  to  the  commanding  officer  port  of  em- 
barkation, for  service  in  France."  All  this  goes  to  show  that  in 
time  of  war  things  are  apt  to  happen  suddenly. 

Let  me  say  in  passing  that  Major  Clinnin  of  the  131st., 
Infantry  was  transferred  to  the  108th  Ammunition  Train,  made 
a  Lieutenant-Colonel,  and  ordered  to  assume  command  of  the 
Trains  Headquarters  and  Military  Police  in  my  stead.  Colonel 
Clinnin  discovered  very  shortly  that  Captain  Sexton  would  not 
do;  the  Efficiency  Board  acted,  and  the  Captain — refusing  to 
resign — was  dismissed  from  the  service.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  state 
however,  that  the  War  Department  reviewed  the  action  of  this 
Board,  and  reinstated  the  Captain. 

Now  that  the  war  is  over,  and  now  that  my  experience  will 
justify — in  a  small  measure  at  least — the  giving  of  an  opinion, 
let  me  state  my  belief  that  an  injustice  was  done  to  many  good 
and  valuable  men  by  summary  dismissals  from  the  service. 
Experience  in  France  showed  us  that  many  men,  unfitted  for 
the  work  in  which  they  might  be  found,  or  to  which  they  had 
been  assigned,  were  valuable  men  when  shifted  to  another  line 
of  work.  It  is  absurd  to  expect  that  every  man  will  be  as  efficient 
in  every  position,  as  he  will  be  in  one  for  which  he  has  peculiar 
personal  adaptation,  or  in  one  for  which  he  has  been  particularly 
trained.  Too  many  men  were  dismissed  the  service,  or  resigned 
to  escape  dismissal,  who  were  merely  round  pegs  in  square  holes. 

On  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  December  I  left  Camp  Logan 
for  Hoboken.  As  the  order  had  indicated  that  I  was  to  report  at 
Hoboken  by  the  fifteenth  of  the  month,  it  seemed  that  I  might 
risk  seeing  the  family  on  my  way,  consequently  I  spent  a  day 
and  a  night  at  home.    It  is  unnecessary  to  say  how  hard  it  was 

47 


to  leave  that  family,  with  a  whole  world  of  uncertainty  in  front 
of  me.  The  trip  from  Camp  Logan  to  Quincy  was  enlivened  by 
meeting  aboard  the  train  a  Captain  Logan  of  the  regular  army, 
who  was  proceeding  from  El  Paso  on  marching  orders  similar  to 
my  own.  It  was  made  somewhat  pleasant  too  by  the  "good 
byes"  given  me  by  brother  officers  at  Camp  Logan,  many  of 
whom  swore  at  me  affectionately  for  my  good  luck  in  getting 
such  an  early  trip  to  France,  and  all  of  whom  envied  me  that  luck. 


48 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

After  going  through  the  almost  endless  amount  of  red  tape 
with  its  tiresome  formalities  of  registration,  re-registration,  pass- 
ports, consular  vises,  etc.,  than  necessary  at  Hoboken,  we  found 
that  there  was  still  a  period  of  waiting  before  we  set  sail.  Captain 
Logan  and  I  found  that  we  were  booked  to  sail  on  a  specified 
boat,  and  finally  we  went  aboard  the  Andania  of  the  Cunard  line. 
It  was  our  full  expectation  that  we  would  pull  out  of  the  harbor 
that  same  night,  but  when  morning  came  we  found  that  we  had 
spent  the  night  at  our  moorings.  The  next  day  we  were  held 
aboard  ship,  but  the  following  day  we  were  allowed  to  go  ashore 
again,  and  many  officers  who  came  from  such  nearby  cities  as 
Philadelphia  or  Washington  were  allowed  to  go  and  visit  their 
friends.  Captain  Logan  and  I  spent  our  time  hanging  about  the 
city  of  New  York,  and  when  Christmas  came  and  we  were  still 
held  here  we  had  a  very  small  modicum  of  the  spirit  of  Christmas. 
On  the  day  after  Christmas  we  were  required  to  go  aboard  ship 
again,  and  late  that  afternoon  we  felt  the  throbbing  of  the 
engines  and  the  gentle  swing  and  roll  of  motion,  and  the  great 
adventure  was  on.  A  survey  of  those  aboard  ship  disclosed  that 
we  were  246  "casual  officers,"  and  27  field  clerks — the  latter 
being  half  civilian,  half  soldier.  By  that  is  meant  that  a  field 
clerk  is  a  civilian  who  wears  a  uniform,  but  who  is  a  non-com- 
batant. This  appeared  a  fairly  small  and  worthless  grist  to  call 
for  the  service  of  one  whole  ocean  liner  to  transport,  but  we 
discovered  early  that  we  were  to  call  at  Halifax  for  an  important 
cargo.  It  is  of  some  interest  to  show  how  shipping  rules  and 
Admiralty  regulations  were  disregarded  at  this  time.  The 
Andania  was  listed  to  carry  a  total  of  not  more  than  1281  souls, 
including  the  crew.  On  this  trip  there  were  over  300  in  the  crew, 
our  246  casual  officers,  and  27  field  clerks,  a  lone  Canadian 
officer  returning  to  France,  and  our  Halifax  "cargo"  of  2882 
Chinese. 

Between  New  York  and  Halifax  scarlet  fever  broke  out  among 
the  casual  officers,  and  this  by  the  way,  was  the  term  used  at  this 

49 


time  for  officers  who  had  no  definite  assignment  with  troops. 
The  greater  portion  of  casual  officers  during  the  war  were  those 
coming  from  training  camps,  where  civilians  were  made  into 
commissioned  officers,  and  later  assigned  to  troops  wherever 
needed. 

The  ship's  doctor,  discovering  that  I  was  a  doctor,  called  me 
in  conference  on  this  case,  and  we  agreed  to  hospitalize  this 
officer  at  Halifax.  This  was  done,  and  done  in  such  a  quiet  way 
that  information  of  what  we  had  on  board  went  no  farther  than 
the  captain  of  the  ship,  his  executive  officer,  the  doctor  and 
myself.  Naturally  however,  the  development  of  this  one  case 
gave  us  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage,  and  any 
one  showing  signs  of  illness  was  very  closely  scrutinized. 

The  landing  at  Halifax  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  see  the 
ruined  city;  it  was  but  a  few  days  before  we  reached  there  that 
it  had  been  blown  up  by  the  explosion  of  a  munitions  ship  in 
the  harbor.  Travel  orders  were  that  no  one  should  be  allowed 
to  land,  but  the  scarlet  fever  case  had  to  be  taken  ashore,  some- 
one had  to  accompany  him  to  see  that  he  was  properly  placed, 
and  to  acquaint  the  American  consul  with  the  matter.  As  I  was 
senior  military  officer  aboard  ship,  and  was  one  not  terrified 
by  contact  with  scarlet  fever,  I  elected  to  take  this  duty  myself. 
This  gave  me  three  hours  on  shore  to  see  the  horrible  effects  on 
the  city  itself  due  to  the  explosion  of  over  600  tons  of  T.  N.  T. 
Aside  from  the  destruction  of  buildings  the  most  noticeable  thing 
was  the  unusual  number  of  people  going  about  the  streets  wearing 
bandages.  When  one  recalls  that  more  than  two  hundred  persons 
lost  the  sight  of  one  or  both  eyes  in  this  explosion  because  of  the 
flying  of  broken  glass,  one  can  get  an  idea  of  the  number  of 
casualties  there  must  have  been. 

As  said  before,  the  cargo  at  Halifax  consisted  of  2882  Chinese. 
The  British  government  imported  50,000  of  these  men  for  road 
work  in  France.  These  were  north  Chinamen,  and  were  uni- 
formly big  fellows,  many  of  them  standing  six  feet  or  more. 
They  enshipped  at  Halifax  in  a  driving  snow  storm,  with  the 
mercury  falling  rapidly,  each  one  carrying  his  bundle,  each  one 
dressed  in  his  quilted  jacket,  his  felt  shoes,  and  many  in  but  one 

50 


thin  pair  of  trousers  which  napped  in  the  driving  wind.  They 
were  not  all  aboard  before  a  report  was  brought  me,  "the  Chinks 
are  in  the  vegetable  hold  stealing  the  vegetables."  Investigation 
proved  that  this  was  so.  How  they  discovered  the  hold  no  one 
knows,  but  they  had  the  hatchway  off,  and  had  dropped  the  nine 
or  ten  feet  into  the  hold.  The  only  way  they  could  get  in  was  by 
dropping,  and  the  only  way  the  could  get  out  was  by  one  man 
"swarming  up"  another.  They  were  ordered  out,  and  as  each 
one  appeared  he  was  "frisked."  The  first  ones  to  appear  through 
the  hatchway  had  their  pockets  and  hands  full  of  potatoes,  cab- 
bage, turnips,  apples  or  whatever  had  taken  their  fancy.  The 
later  ones  climbed  out  apparently  empty  of  vegetables,  but  close 
examination  disclosed  that  each  one  had  a  potato,  a  turnip  or 
an  apple  dropped  down  into  each  leg  of  his  trousers,  and  as  they 
wore  these  garments  tied  about  the  ankles  it  was  easy  to  see  why 
such  use  was  made  of  them  at  this  time.  The  chief  characteristic 
of  these  Chinese  was  first,  acquisitiveness,  and  then  a  naive 
childishness.  They  stole  the  door  plates  off  the  doors,  and  the 
brass  nozzles  off  the  fire  hose.  Any  metal  capable  of  a  lustre 
was  desirable  to  them,  and  from  a  flat  piece  of  brass,  with  no 
other  tools  than  a  pocket  knife  they  would  fashion  another 
pocket  knife,  or  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  some  kind  of  a  novelty  which 
they  would  offer  to  sell  to  the  officers  aboard  ship. 

The  supposition  on  the  part  of  the  Cunard  line,  and  the 
British  government  was  that  there  would  be  American  troops 
aboard  this  ship.  The  "troops"  have  been  previously  described. 
The  question  then  arose,  "Shall  we  proceed  without  definite 
arrangements,  and  definite  force  for  handling  these  Chinese  in  an 
emergency,  or  shall  we  wait  here  at  Halifax  until  some  Canadian 
battalion  is  ready  to  cross,  or  until  the  United  States  can  send 
up  a  battalion?"  The  officers  of  the  rank  of  Captain  and  above 
were  called  into  conference,  and  it  was  decided  that  the  com- 
missioned officers  aboard  ship  should  serve  as  enlisted  men,  to 
carry  on  the  necessary  guard  duty.  As  a  result  four  companies 
were  formed  from  the  officer  personnel.  The  next  item  was, 
"what  tools  have  we  to  work  with?"  An  inventory  disclosed 
that  there  were  eleven  pistols  and  revolvers  aboard  ship,  and 

51 


about  five  hundred  rounds  of  various  sorts  of  ammunition.  And 
here  were  246  officers  going  to  war,  and  supposedly  equipped 
for  war,  and  almost  none  of  them  had  even  side  arms. 

All  the  guns  and  ammunition  were  requisitioned  and  passed 
from  sentry  to  sentry  during  the  voyage.  Fire  hose  was  laid  so 
that  in  an  emergency  a  two  inch  stream,  of  200  pounds  pressure 
could  be  used  to  sweep  the  gangways;  then  the  ship's  carpenter 
turned  out  for  us  eighteen  good,  husky,  hardwood  "saps,"  and 
we  said  "Go  ahead." 

The  departure  from  Halifax  was  in  a  blizzard ;  the  mercury  was 
falling  rapidly;  six  other  vessels  were  leaving  at  the  same  time, 
making  a  convoy.  During  the  first  night  out  the  mercury  went 
to  28  degrees  below  zero;  water  pipes  aboard  the  Andania  froze, 
and  at  2  a.  m.,  one  burst  down  in  the  hold  among  the  Chinese. 
In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  there  were  Chinese  all  over 
that  ship;  I  think  some  went  even  to  the  "cro'  nest."  It  was  a 
valuable  lesson  to  the  guard,  for  it  developed  the  fact  that  they 
had  not  been  taking  their  job  sufficiently  seriously. 

For  twenty-four  hours  we  remained  with  our  convoy.  Then  it 
was  decided  that  the  speed  of  the  Andania  was  such  that  the 
other  ships  were  no  longer  justified  in  retarding  their  passage 
for  her.  The  Andania  was  something  of  a  cripple;  at  her  previous 
docking  at  Liverpool  she  had  rammed  her  bow  into  the  dock 
with  sufficient  force  to  stave  in  her  forward  starboard  plates. 
This  damage  had  been  repaired  by  filling  in,  between  the  plates 
and  the  sheathing,  with  cement.  This  cement  filling  had  become 
loosened  by  the  turbulence  of  the  waves  during  her  westward 
voyage,  still  further  loosened  by  the  rough  trip  from  New  York 
to  Halifax,  and  she  was  leaking  badly.  Also,  her  coal  was  so  poor 
that  she  could  not  make  steam  for  the  eleven  or  twelve  knots 
which  the  rest  of  the  convoy  could  make.  Still  more,  because  of 
her  leak  it  became  necessary  to  list  her  to  port  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, in  order  to  save  the  filling  in  her  starboard  teeth.  To 
make  a  long  story  short,  the  rest  of  the  convoy  went  ahead  leav- 
ing us  alone  on  the  vast  Atlantic.  Seven  knots  was  about  the 
best  we  could  do,  and  added  to  this  there  came  one  morning  a 
wireless  of  so  disturbing  nature  that  the  Captain  decided  to  put 

52 


back  toward  Halifax,  and  all  day  long  instead  of  going  east  we 
went  west  and  north.  Then  we  turned  again  and  proceeded  east- 
ward, but  we  were  so  far  to  the  north  as  to  be  out  of  all  recognized 
lines  of  steamboat  travel.  So  far  north  in  fact,  that  when  we 
stopped  going  east,  and  bore  due  south,  we  sailed  south  for 
twenty  hours  before  picking  up  the  lights  on  the  islands  north- 
west of  Scotland.  For  fifteen  days  we  had  been  out  of  sight  of 
land,  and  we  finally  docked  at  Liverpool  on  the  seventeenth  day 
of  travel. 

At  Liverpool  a  special  train  was  waiting  to  convey  the  officers 
and  field  clerks  to  Southampton.  The  ship  disgorged  our  baggage 
on  the  dock.  The  train  stood  about  four  city  blocks  distance, 
but  there  was  a  strike  among  the  wharf  workers,  and  there  was 
no  one  to  make  the  baggage  transfer.  It  was  amazing  what  a  lot 
of  baggage  there  was  too;  apparently  every  officer  had  leaned 
heavily  on  Army  Regulations,  and  had  taken  the  number  of 
pounds  specified  as  the  allowance  for  his  rank.  I  know  one  Major 
who  had  four  locker-trunks  and  a  huge  bed-roll;  all  the  officers 
had  one  or  more  locker-trunks,  and  nearly  every  one  a  bed-roll. 

General,  Lord  Some-body-or-other,  whose  name  I  promptly 
forgot,  was  there  to  meet  us;  he  informed  us  that  because  of  the 
strike  no  one  knew  when  the  baggage  could  be  transferred;  that 
we  might  either  proceed  without  it — leaving  it  to  follow  when  it 
could  be  transferred,  or  the  special  train  might  be  cancelled,  and 
we  could  wait  in  Liverpool  until  the  strike  was  settled.  No  one 
wanted  to  wait;  no  one  wanted  to  leave  his  baggage,  for  the  one 
thing  we  had  learned  from  those  who  had  been  across  and  had 
returned  to  the  states,  was  "the  first  thing  to  learn  after  you  get 
over  is,  never  let  your  baggage  out  of  your  sight."  Remembering 
the  Chinese  aboard  the  ship  I  proposed  to  Lord  Somebody  to 
deploy,  and  employ  a  couple  of  hundred  of  those  Chinks  to  hustle 
the  baggage.  He  threw  up  his  hands  in  horror  and  exclaimed, 
"But,  my  dear  fellow,  if  we  allowed  that  we  would  never  get 
a  wharf  man  back  on  the  dock."  Our  feeling  just  then  was  that 
we  were  perfectly  willing  to  start  complications  with  union  labor, 
with  Great  Britain,  or  with  anybody  else.  A  few  minutes  con- 
sultation with  some  of  the  officers  and  the  word  was  passed 

53 


around,  "every  American  grab  a  hand  barrow;  we  will  transfer 
this  baggage  ourselves/'  and  we  did  to  the  great  amazement  of 
the  General  and  his  Staff. 

An  English  army  officer,  except  when  actually  in  the  front  line, 
is  apparently  the  most  helpless  thing  on  two  legs.  He  must  be 
waited  upon,  and  served  by  some  one  not  of  commissioned  rank, 
all  the  time.  General,  the  Lord  Whosit,  watched  our  officers 
trundling  baggage  for  awhile,  and  finally  in  a  burst  of  real  ad- 
miration exclaimed,  "My  word,  but  your  fellows  are  deucedly 
efficient;  on  me  honor  ours  would  never  have  thought  of  that 
way  out  of  the  dilemma. "  In  this  connection  let  me  recount  an 
incident  illustrating  the  apparent  helplessness  of  the  British 
officer. 

AVhen  the  33rd  Division  was  part  of  4th  British  Army,  I  had 
occasion  one  day  to  drive  to  the  back  areas.  The  car  was  an 
English  Sunbeam,  the  driver  a  British  Tommy.  Contrary  to  all 
existing  precedents  I  rode  on  the  front  seat  with  Tommy,  both 
for  conversational  purposes  and  because  I  preferred  the  front 
seat.  About  fifty  kilometres  back  of  the  front  lines  we  came  upon 
a  British  subaltern  with  his  bed-roll,  at  a  crossroad.  The  lorry 
he  had  been  riding  on  had  taken  him  this  far,  had  then  turned 
off  in  another  direction,  and  he  was  waiting  for  another  lift. 
Recognizing  the  uniform  of  Tommy,  and  not  being  familiar 
with  the  American  uniform  or  its  insignia  of  rank,  he  hailed  the 
car  and  asked  for  a  ride.  Of  course  there  was  ample  room  in  the 
tonneau,  so  we  stopped  to  pick  him  up.  Still  not  recognizing  my 
rank,  and  being  very  conscious  of  his  own  he  said,  "Now,  my 
man,  just  step  down  here  and  throw  this  bed-roll  into  the  car, 
will  you?"  It  wasn't  a  large  bed-roll;  it  didn't  look  as  if  it  contain- 
ed I-beams  or  pig  iron,  and  besides  the  complete  complacency  of 
the  boy  rubbed  me  the  wrong  way,  so  before  the  driver  could 
leave  his  seat  I  said  to  the  young  officer,  "Grab  hold  of  that 
bed-roll  and  heave  it  in,  let's  be  on  our  way."  With  a  look  of 
astonishment,  and  with  rising  wrath  at  what  he  evidently  con- 
sidered an  insult  to  the  British  army,  he  began  to  gasp  and 
stutter.  In  this  International  crisis  the  driver  spoke  up  and 
said,  "This  is  Colonel  Center  of  the  American  Army,  Sir."    It 

54 


was  a  most  diplomatic  introduction;  it  furnished  a  legitimate 
basis  for  my  abrupt  remark,  and  at  the  same  time  the  "sir" 
acknowledged  the  rank  of  the  English  officer.  Apologies  on  his 
part  were  so  profuse,  and  his  confusion  so  great  that  he  handled 
his  bed-roll  almost  unconsciously.  My  last  memory  of  him, 
when  we  finally  deposited  him  as  near  his  destination  as  we  were 
going,  is  seeing  him  standing  there  by  the  roadside,  very  erect, 
and  waggling  that  inimitable  English  military  salute  at  me. 

Aboard  the  train  we  went,  baggage  and  all,  for  Southampton. 
It  was  12:30  p.  m.  when  we  left  Liverpool;  it  was  11  p.  m.  when 
we  reached  Southampton.  At  this  point  we  were  met  by  some 
of  our  own  Marines  who  were  on  duty  as  Military  Police.  The 
Marine  Corps  Captain  said  all  officers  below  the  grade  of  Major 
were  to  go  to  a  "rest  Camp."  There  is  a  joke  connected  with  that 
word,  or  term,  inasmuch  as  the  "rest  camp"  had  to  be  reached 
by  a  three  mile  walk,  and  when  reached  consisted  of  nothing  in 
the  way  of  accommodations  except  tents;  no  blankets,  no  straw, 
no  furnishings  of  any  sort.  Most  Rest  Camps  were  so  called 
because  anyone  sent  to  one  of  them  remembered  it  for  the  rest 
of  his  life.  Four  of  us  were  entitled  to  go  into  town  to  the  hotel, 
and  the  Captain  took  us  up  in  his  car.  It  was  cold  and  raining 
hard.  We  were  tired  and  hungry,  and  the  hotel  was  practically 
shut  up  for  the  night.  The  desk  clerk  could  not  offer  any  en- 
couragement concerning  things  to  eat  and  drink,  so  we  refreshed 
his  memory  with  a  tip;  he  called  the  dining  room  chief,  or  steward, 
or  someone  who  seemed  to  be  in  authority  in  the  commissary 
line.  This  man  didn't  see  how  anything  could  be  done;  there 
were  rules  and  regulations  about  eating  and  drinking  after  ten 
p.  m.,  war  rules,  English  rules,  hotel  rules.  We  informed  him  that 
we  represented  the  great  United  States  of  America;  that  where 
the  eagle  flew  there  were  no  rules  greater  than  those  of  hospitality 
and  humanity;  that  we  had  come  across  the  ocean  to  save  his 
bloomin'  little  isle  from  utter  destruction;  that  we  were  perishin' 
with  hunger  and  thirst,  and  that  here  were  two  shillin's  for 
himself,  to  forget  the  rules  for  a  minute  and  see  what  he  could 
do.  The  result  was  a  gorgeous  meal  with  several  kinds  of  meats, 
bread,  fruit,  coffee,  and  a  "B  and  S"  to  keep  out  the  cold. 

55 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

The  next  afternoon,  through  British  headquarters  I  received 
an  order  to  take  146  of  my  casual  officers  aboard  ship  that  after- 
noon, for  France.  The  ship  was  a  cattle  ship  just  in  from  Aus- 
tralia; we  had  to  wait  for  the  cattle  to  be  unloaded.  She  wasn't 
designed  to  carry  passengers;  there  wasn't  even  a  cabin  aboard, 
unless  one  calls  the  little  room  where  the  crew  ate  and  slept,  a 
cabin;  all  the  rest  was  cattle  pens.  The  crew  was  Japanese  and 
Lascar;  the  skipper  was  a  drunken  Irishman;  the  cargo  was  146 
casual  officers,  the  1st  American  Evacuation  Hospital,  and  a 
battalion  of  Australians  returning  from  leave.  Apparently  the 
trip  was  only  a  crossing  of  the  Channel,  but  under  British  regu- 
lations, and  as  ranking  officer  aboard  ship,  I  was  asked  to  sign 
for  rations  for  two  days  for  all  on  board.  It  looked  like  a  little 
bit  of  graft  to  me,  for  with  any  luck  at  all  we  should  make  the 
crossing  in  a  few  hours,  but  regulations  must  be  observed,  and  if 
someone  was  going  to  profit  out  of  those  rations,  far  be  it  from 
me  to  disturb  regulations.  We  sailed  at  7  p.  m.,  in  a  rain  and 
snow  that  lasted  all  night.  There  was  not  a  clean  place  aboard 
the  ship;  there  was  but  one  deck,  and  it  was  a  case  of  open  air, 
cattle  pens,  or  crowd  into  the  stuffy  little  cabin  where  the  ship's 
crew  was  supposed  to  sleep.  Most  of  the  American  officers  spent 
the  night  on  deck.  At  4  a.  m.  we  reached  the  Havre.  The  tide 
was  out,  and  there  we  hung  until  nearly  noon  of  that  day  waiting 
for  sufficient  water  to  get  over  the  bar.  What  became  of  those 
rations  we  were  supposed  to  have  aboard  I  never  did  learn.  The 
casual  officers  nibbled  on  a  bar  of  chocolate,  or  something  of  the 
sort  which  they  had  laid  in  before  starting  from  Southampton; 
the  Australians,  being  old  campaigners  had  a  can  of  MaChon- 
achie,  or  something  else  to  eat,  in  their  kits. 

At  Havre  billets  were  provided  for  those  who  wished  them. 
Four  of  us,  who  had  found  each  other  congenial  in  the  past  three 
weeks,  scorned  billets;  we  wanted  to  find  a  real  hotel,  a  hotel 
with  a  bath,  and  with  wonderful  French  cooking  where  we  could 
spend  some  of  our  good  American  money.    We  did;  the  name  of 

56 


the  hotel  now  escapes  me,  but  the  other  desired  conditions  were 
attained  to  the  maximum. 

Two  days  later  the  American  officer  in  charge  at  the  Havre 
forwarded  an  order  to  me  from  American  G.  H.  Q.,  to  this  effect: 
to  proceed  to  Paris  with  146  designated  casual  officers,  there  to 
receive  additional  orders. 

As  I  look  back  at  it  now  I  never  did  take  that  order  seriously; 
it  didn't  mean  anything  to  me;  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  I  was 
responsible  for  the  delivery  of  146  American  bodies  under  that 
order;  if  I  had  sensed  these  things  it  might  have  spoiled  my  trip 
from  the  Havre  to  Paris,  and  perhaps  have  kept  me  awake  at 
night.  This  run  was  quiet  and  uneventful,  and  when  in  Paris 
an  officer  in  rank  equal  to  my  own  got  himself  lost,  went  no 
farther  with  me,  and  later  got  himself  reprimanded  and  side- 
tracked into  an  S.  0.  S.  job,  meant  nothing  in  my  young  life. 
The  fact  that  he  was  a  lieutenant-colonel  seemed  to  relieve  me 
from  all  blame,  for  all  the  defense  I  ever  offered  was  that  he 
absented  himself  without  my  knowledge  or  consent,  all  of  which 
was  true,  for  he  neither  asked  permission  to  absent  himself,  nor 
told  me  that  he  was  going  A.  W.  0.  L. 

On  reaching  Paris  my  responsibilities  sat  so  lightly  on  me  that 
it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  report  at  the  historic  No.  10,  St.  Anne 
Street;  it  didn't  occur  to  me  that  G.  H.  Q.  was  interested  in  me 
in  any  way.  A  captain  from  Philadelphia — Captain  Pleasonton — 
did  call  at  No.  10,  Rue  St.  Anne,  and  came  back  with  the  in- 
formation that  a  special  train  would  be  in  waiting  for  us  that 
evening  to  take  us  to  Blois,  and  that  No.  10,  Rue  St.  Anne  was 
looking  for  me.  I  did  not  want  to  see  anyone  at  that  number; 
I  didn't  know  where  that  street  and  number  was,  and  if  there 
was  a  special  train  waiting  anywhere  to  take  us  somewhere,  I 
wanted  to  make  that  train.  So  American  headquarters  did  not 
see  me,  and  got  in  touch  with  me  by  messenger,  at  the  train.  As 
we  walked  down  the  station  we  came  to  a  coach  which  had  chalked 
on  its  side,  "Commanding  Officer,"  and  underneath  the  words, 
"Colonel  Center."  To  put  it  mildly  it  knocked  my  eye  out. 
There  stood  an  orderly  with  my  orders  too — to  proceed  with  270 

57 


casual  officers  and  28  field  clerks  to  Blois,  and  there  open  a  casual 
officers  station. 

My  first  thought  was,  "what  the  devil  is  a  casual  officers 
station?"  The  train  was  a  compartment  train,  and  while,  as 
commanding  officer  an  entire  compartment  had  been  reserved 
for  me,  still  I  wanted  company  and  not  official  seclusion.  After 
a  little  urging — for  they  felt  the  new  dignity  which  had  come 
upon  me — I  induced  Major  Stacy  from  Cincinnati,  Captain 
Pleasonton  from  Philadelphia,  and  Captain  Nelson  of  Detroit  to 
share  my  grandeur  with  me.  Incidentally,  I  felt  the  need  of 
counsel  and  suggestion  on  the  matter  of  a  "casual  officers 
station."  Also,  at  Paris,  we  as  traveling  companions  had  pro- 
cured a  large  basket  full  of  good  things  to  eat  and  drink,  and  I 
didn't  want  to  separate  myself  from  the  commissary  department. 

So  we  organized,  to  some  extent,  on  the  way  from  Paris  to 
Blois.  Aboard  the  train  were  found  several  officers  who  spoke 
French  fluently — or  so  it  seemed  to  those  of  us  who  spoke  but 
little — and  one  was  an  American  artist  who  had  lived  in  Paris 
for  some  years,  and  who  had  returned  to  the  states  and  had 
entered  the  first  Training  camp.  He  had  some  little  knowledge 
of  the  continental  system  of  billeting,  and  was  deputized  to  get 
in  touch  with  the  Mairie  as  soon  as  we  reached  Blois,  to  ascertain 
if  a  list  of  billets  was  procurable.  On  our  arrival  we  discovered 
that  a  colonel  of  our  regular  service,  and  a  bunch  of  hospital 
corps  men  had  preceded  us.  About  all  this  cavalry  colonel  had 
done,  or  discovered,  was  to  make  arrangements  for  the  use  of 
certain  portions  of  the  chateau  of  Blois,  for  barracks.  This  was 
an  item,  inasmuch  as  this  chateau — the  second  largest  in  France, 
could  accommodate  2000  men  if  necessary,  but  it  was  very  un- 
suitable and  unsanitary.  Moreover,  because  of  its  historic 
associations,  and  because  a  portion  of  the  chateau  was  then  a 
National  museum,  the  French  government  was  rather  loathe  to 
have  it  used  for  troop  purposes. 

Our  artist,  through  the  local  city  administration,  uncovered  a 
goodly  number  of  billets,  and  in  a  few  hours  every  one  was  taken 
care  of.    The  four  of  us  who  had  traveled  together  in  the  com- 

58 


partment  of  the  "commanding  officer"  went  to  the  leading  hotel 
where  it  cost  us  about  twenty  francs  per  man  per  day. 

There  were  orders  awaiting  our  arrival  at  Blois.  One  that 
was  urgent  was  to  segregate  and  list  all  officers  who  had  railroad 
experience  in  any  capacity,  forwarding  this  list  of  names  to 
G.  H.  Q.  at  once.  Some  thirty-four  officers  were  found  eligible 
for  this  list,  and  they  were  ordered  at  once  to  various  points  for 
service  on  the  American  railroad. 

On  the  third  day  after  our  arrival,  Colonel  Pulis,  of  the  regular 
army,  arrived  to  take  over  the  command.  As  no  orders  had  come 
through  transferring  me  elsewhere,  he  made  me  his  executive 
officer.  He  was  just  as  green  at  the  job  as  I  was,  and  was  ex- 
tremely frank  and  cordial  in  saying  that  he  was  glad  he  was  not 
the  one  selected  to  break  the  ice  at-  Blois.  Now  too,  we  began 
to  receive  shipments  of  enlisted  men,  as  well  as  casual  officers, 
and  arrangements  were  made  with  the  French  authorities  to 
evacuate  the  French  troops  from  the  Caserne  at  Blois,  in  order 
to  enable  us  to  more  properly  care  for  our  own  men.  These 
French  troops  at  the  Caserne,  or  barracks,  were  troops  sent  back 
from  the  front  to  rest  and  recuperate,  and  they  could  be  billeted 
throughout  the  town — an  arrangement  which  enabled  us  to 
concentrate  our  enlisted  men  and  keep  them  under  training  and 
observation.  The  Caserne  would  accommodate  6000  troops  so 
our  cares  along  this  line  were  relieved. 

It  soon  developed  too,  that  a  station  for  casual  officers  meant 
more  than  had  originally  appeared  on  the  surface — that  casuals 
included  both  those  coming  and  those  going.  It  has  been  men- 
tioned previously  that  many  officers  were  discharged  the  service 
for  one  reason  or  another.  Here  at  Blois  we  began  to  receive 
officers  who  had  been  sent  before  Boards  of  Efficiency,  or  before 
Courts  Martial,  who  had  not  been  informed  of  the  findings  in 
their  cases,  but  who  had  been  ordered  to  Blois.  At  this  station 
the  officer  in  command  of  the  station  would  receive  the  findings 
in  the  case,  would  have  to  break  the  news  to  the  officer  who  had 
been  tried,  and  then  hand  to  him  the  further  orders  of  G.  H.  Q. 
Colonel  Pulis  turned  this  division  of  the  work  over  to  me,  and 
when  one  is  told  that  during  my  short  stay  at  Blois,  we  passed 

59 


through  our  hands  as  many  as  37  dismissals  in  one  day,  one  can 
get  an  idea  of  how  the  weeding-out  process  was  going  on.  These 
dismissals  ran  from  the  shave-tail  clear  up  to  a  full  colonel,  for 
we  had  one  colonel  pass  out  via  Blois. 

One  case  seemed  particularly  unjust  and  uncalled  for.  An 
American  captain  of  artillery  appeared ;  his  papers  had  preceded 
him,  and  his  orders  waiting  with  us,  were  to  report  to  the  Ad- 
jutant General,  the  Army,  at  Washington  for  dismissal  from  the 
service  on  the  grounds  of  inefficiency.  He  had  enlisted  in  a 
Canadian  contingent  before  we  got  into  the  war,  had  reached  a 
commission  in  the  Canadian  forces,  and  had  served  seventeen 
months  before  the  entry  of  the  forces  of  the  United  States.  When 
our  government  came  into  the  struggle  he  had  asked  for  a  trans- 
fer to  our  forces,  which  request  had  been  granted.  While  with 
the  Canadians  he  had  been  decorated  by  both  the  British  and 
the  French.  He  had  a  letter  from  his  Canadian  Colonel  speaking 
in  very  high  terms  of  his  ability  and  his  valor. 

After  being  assigned  to  an  American  regiment  of  artillery 
which  was  then  in  France,  he  had  been  made  a  captain.  Then 
there  was  a  change  in  the  commanding  officer  of  his  regiment, 
and  the  new  commanding  officer  had,  very  shortly  after  taking 
command,  ordered  this  captain  before  an  Efficiency  Board.  The 
Board  had  found  him  efficient,  for  the  captain  had  in  his  pos- 
session a  letter  from  the  commanding  officer  of  the  Board  stating 
this  fact.  In  spite  of  the  decision  of  this  Board  his  commanding 
officer  had  insisted  on  his  dismissal,  and  G.  H.  Q.  had  acquiesced 
in  the  demand. 

The  captain,  after  I  had  broken  the  news  to  him  and  after  he 
had  read  the  order  I  handed  him,  asked  in  a  most  respectful  way, 
if  he  might  have  permission  to  speak  to  the  Colonel  as  man  to 
man;  of  course  the  request  was  granted,  and  he  then  submitted 
the  above  mentioned  facts  to  me.  Then  noticing  that  I  wore  a 
Consistory  ring  he  asked  if  he  might  ask  my  advice  "on  the 
square.''  Again  his  request  was  granted.  He  then  said  that  in 
view  of  the  findings  and  the  order  just  received,  that  he  proposed 
to  go — not  to  the  Adjutant  General  at  Washington  to  be  dis- 
missed in  disgrace — but  to  go  to  the  Canadian  Corps  in  France, 

60 


and  to  re-enlist  with  them,  or  rejoin  them  in  any  capacity.  I 
tried  to  show  him  the  unwisdom  of  this,  and  told  him  that  a 
sense  of  ethics  might  decide  the  Canadians  to  decline  his  offer; 
that  such  a  course,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  would  make  a 
deserter  of  him  since  he  was  still  in  our  service,  and  would  be 
until  the  Adjutant  General  had  formally  carried  out  the  order 
for  his  dismissal;  that  his  only  chance  for  a  re-hearing,  or  a 
reversal  of  the  sentence  lay  with  the  Department  at  Washington; 
that  in  the  event  he  could  not  get  a  reversal  and  was  dismissed, 
that  he  could  then  with  clean  hands  go  to  Canada,  or  England, 
and  get  into  the  service  again.  He  impressed  me  so  favorably 
with  his  manly  qualities,  his  sense  of  military  discipline,  and  his 
self-control  in  this  very  trying  situation,  that  I  have  often 
wondered  if  he  kept  his  promise  made  to  me  to  go  to  Washington, 
and  if  he  was  successful  in  getting  a  reversal  of  his  sentence. 

Later  on  Blois  became  notorious  as  the  graveyard  for  the 
hopes  of  many  American  officers,  for  after  a  time  a  permanent 
Efficiency  Board  sat  at  Blois;  it  was  here  that  General  Henry 
Hill  was  sent  in  the  effort  to  drive  him  out  of  the  service. 

Military  discipline  is  not  only  desirable  but  is  imperative. 
Ability  to  understand  and  to  execute  orders  is  also  imperative. 
Efficiency  in  an  officer  is  the  sine  qua  non,  but  it  is  very  un- 
likely, to  my  mind  at  least,  that  in  the  event  of  another  war  in 
which  this  nation  is  involved  if  such  arbitrary,  unfeeling,  and 
sometimes  unjust  measures  are  taken  to  clear  the  service  of  men 
who  are  eager  to  serve,  and  who  may  not  be  a  success  in  the 
first  position  to  which  they  may  be  assigned,  so  long  as  men  are 
always  needed  for  many  positions  other  than  those  strictly 
military  with  troops. 

****** 

Somewhere  in  France,  February  19,  1918. 

My  dear  Captain  Fawcett:    ("Captain  Fawcett"  is  Bishop  M. 

Edward     Fawcett,     formerly    the 
chaplain  of  the  old   5th.,    Illinois 
National  Guard.) 
Will  you  kindly  accept  a  letter  to  yourself  which  is  also  designed 

as  a  reminder  to  the  Rotary  Club  that  the  familiar  faces  and 

61 


names  of  that  solemn  and  decorous  body  are  not  forgotten? 
Knowing  your  amiable  nature,  and  realizing  that  the  Rotarians 
will  endure  a  great  deal  at  your  hands,  I  am  sure  my  confidence 
is  well  placed.  Did  you  ever  see  a  barrel  of  cider  that  was  slowly 
being  transformed  into  vinegar?  Did  you  ever  plug  up  the 
openings  in  that  barrel  and  see  the  froth  and  foam  sizzle  out  of 
the  crevices  you  did  not  know  existed?  Well,  I  am  that  barrel; 
full  to  the  bung  with  things  I  would  like  to  write  to  the  Rotary 
Club  and  to  yourself,  and  because  of  the  censor,  all  that  will 
appear  will  be  a  little  froth  and  foam.  (By  the  way  that  is  my 
maiden,  or  virgin  announcement  that  I  am  full.)  Of  the  trip  over 
there  is  but  little  to  say.  The  principal  event  was  that  we  ex- 
perienced 28  degrees  below  zero  weather,  our  water  supply  froze 
up,  the  steam  pipes  froze  up,  and  for  four  days  neither  Peary  or 
Cook  had  anything  on  us  in  the  way  of  Artie  discomforts.  Add 
to  this  a  howling  blizzard  with  the  sea  running  high,  and  you  can 
draw  a  picture  of  a  bunch  of  would-be  American  heroes  shivering 
and  straining  to  see  which  one  could  "throw"  the  farthest.  Not 
a  periscope  was  seen;  in  fact  if  one  had  stuck  its  head  above  the 
surface  it  would  have  its  eye  covered  with  ice  in  about  20  seconds, 
so  we  merely  worried  over  our  creature  discomforts.  But  if  I 
ever  see  Major  Huidekoper  again,  I  am  going  to  tell  him  that  as  a 
describer  he  ranks  about  zero.  Before  I  left  Camp  Logan  he  told 
me  that  after  reaching  here  I  would  be  wet  and  cold  from 
September  15  to  May  1 :  told  it  in  just  those  plain  and  unadorned 
words.  I  am  no  word  painter;  no  one  ever  hung  a  medal  on  me 
for  eloquence;  in  fact  my  tendency  is  to  be  modestly  tongue 
tied,  but  if  ever  I  come  back  and  start  in  to  explain  to  a  novice 
how  he  will  feel  in  France  from  September  15  to  May  1,  the 
words  I  use  will  help  keep  him  warm  during  that  period  at  any 
rate.  Duty  since  arriving  here,  has  been  confined  largely  to  map 
work;  not  the  kind  of  map  work  you  are  thinking  about  though. 
I  reach  one  point ;  shortly  there  comes  an  order  to  go  somewhere 
else.  I  study  the  map  to  find  where  is  this  next  place,  then  visit 
a  Gare  and  wrestle — vocally — with  the  dame  who  inhabits  the 
office.  Finally  she  tenders  me  a  ticket.  I  say  "Combien?"  and 
she  says  a  large  mouthful  of  something,  none  of  which  I  com- 
prehend except  that  apparently  she  is  trying  to  say  "sank"  and 

62 


is  stuttering  badly.  Finally  I  take  out  my  purse  and  tender  her 
the  entire  contents.  She  smiles,  says  "merci,  beaucoup"  helps 
herself,  and  the  transaction  is  over.  I  always  feel  sad  when  I 
hear  her  say  those  words,  for  I  have  the  impression  they  generally 
cost  me  about  five  francs  extra.  Then  I  go  to  the  new  destination, 
and  stay  one  day,  or  nine  days — the  latter  the  longest  time  I 
have  been  in  any  one  place — and  then  comes  an  order  to  go 
somewhere  else.  Again  business  of  map  study,  and  attentive 
communion  with  another  ticket  lady.  If  only  it  could  be  arranged 
for  me  to  become  a  Cook's  tourist  and  be  personally  conducted, 
how  happy  I  would  be.  But  I'm  seeing  France.  In  fact  it  may 
be  said  that  I  have  considerable  land  holdings  here  already,  for 
there  have  been  many  nights  when  I  am  sure  I  had  in  my  pos- 
session between  25  to  50  pounds  of  good  French  soil.  There  is  one 
peculiar  thing  about  the  acquiring  of  real  estate  here;  you 
generally  acquire  it  from  the  waist  down.  Also,  I  have  acquired 
a  vast  amount  of,  as  yet  unclassified  information;  have  seen  the 
Hun  in  his  lair— from  a  perfectly  safe  distance  of  course— have 
seen  mine  craters  and  shell  holes  galore,  the  latter  in  the  process 
of  making,  and  have  gotten  so  that  I  do  not  shy  when  an  aero- 
plane passes  overhead.  However,  after  due  and  conscientious 
consideration,  I  rise  to  second  Sherman's  motion  relative  to  war. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  whole  thing  tends  to  develop 
generosity,  free-handedness,  and  disregard  for  minutiae  in  one 
who  stays  here  long.  You  become  separated  from  your  baggage; 
you  go  weeks,  possibly  months  with  the  same  devoted  suit  of 
underwear.  Some  one  says  to  you,  "Don't  you  know  you  are 
shedding  effluvia  upon  the  circumnabient  air?"  You  exclaim 
generously,  "Oh  never  mind;  I  have  plenty  more."  Finally  you 
reach  a  place  where  after  walking  eight  miles,  and  swearing 
sixteen,  you  find  a  laundress.  (In  "Trilby"  laundresses  were  the 
rule;  in  France  they  are  the  exception.)  You  leave  her  a  parcel 
bigger  than  a  calf,  and  somewhat  less  in  size  than  a  cow.  Then 
you  are  ordered  elsewhere.  Do  you  worry  over  that  bundle  of 
wearing  apparel?  You  do  not,  for  you  know  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned  it  has  departed;  you  merely  murmur  "Kismet,"  and 
go  and  buy  another  union  suit  at  the  first  opportunity.   Just  as  a 

63 


rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss,  so  does  one  on  duty  in  France 
gather  no  clean  clothes. 

Have  seen  none  of  the  fellows  from  home  who  are  over  here, 
and  am  convinced  that  the  only  way  I  will  ever  see  them  is  to 
run  across  them  unexpectedly.  A  letter  or  two  would  look  very 
good.  Just  as  an  illustration  of  how  sentimental  one  can  become. 
A  few  days  ago  among  some  papers  which  I  brought  from  Camp 
Logan,  I  happened  across  a  letter  from  my  wife  dated  in  last 
October.  Do  you  know  I  read  that  letter  with  avidity  and 
interest  about  five  times?  On  mature  reflection  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  as  a  purveyor  of  news  it  was  a  trifle  passe'. 

At  this  present  location  it  is  said  there  will  be  no  moving  for 
about  ten  weeks,  so  if  you  can  find  the  time  to  send  me  general, 
special,  or  Rotary  news  the  favor  will  be  greatly  appreciated. 
Address  "Colonel"  please,  as  my  rank  has  changed,  and  below 
the  name  put  "A.  P.  O.  714,  A.  E.  F."  With  kindest  regards  to 
yourself  and  the  others  of  the  loyal  and  royal  bunch. 


64 


CHAPTER  NINE 

Eleven  days  at  Blois,  and  there  came  an  order  to  report  to 
the  commanding  General,  41st  Division,  at  St.  Aignan-Noyers. 
The  same  order  came  for  Major  Stacy,  Captain  Pleasonton,  and 
Captain  Nelson — the  four  inseparables.  To  say  that  we  were 
overjoyed  to  discover  that  our  lot  was  still  in  common  is  putting 
it  mildly.  At  St.  Aignan  we  reported  to  the  Division  Adjutant, 
Major  Jervey.  On  seeing  the  names  on  the  orders  he  turned  to 
me  and  said,  "I  have  some  good  news  for  you;  a  general  order 
has  just  come  through  promoting  you  to  Colonel."  He  handed 
me  the  "G.  O."  and  I  read,  "December  26,  1917,  Charles  D. 
Center  to  be  Colonel  of  Infantry" — the  date  the  day  before  we 
sailed  from  New  York;  I  had  been  a  Colonel  for  more  than  a 
month  without  knowing  it.  The  order  further  said,  "Who  will 
report  at  once  to  the  commanding  General,  33d  Division."  The 
commanding  General,  33d  Division  was  in  Houston,  Texas;  I 
was  in  France,  and  realizing  that  "possession  is  nine  points  in 
law"  I  decided  to  stay  in  France — at  least  until  caught  at  it. 
Major  Jervey  suggested  that  I  go  at  once  to  the  Judge  Advocate 
of  the  41st,  and  take  the  oath,  so  that  no  more  time  be  lost  in 
going  through  the  necessary  formality  of  qualifying  for  the  pay 
of  a  Colonel,  and  that  suggestion  met  my  hearty  approval. 

Then  the  Major  said,  "We  don't  know  why  you  men  are  sent 
down  here;  are  you  located  in  billets;  can  you  be  comfortable 
for  a  few  days  until  we  find  out  about  you?"  We  said,  "Sure  we 
can  be  comfortable."  So  we  reported  to  him  daily  for  four  days 
only  to  meet  with  "nothing  for  you  yet."  On  the  fifth  day  it  was 
different.  Colonel  Center  was  to  report  to  the  commanding 
general,  3rd  Canadian  Division;  Major  Stacy  to  the  commanding 
officer  of  an  English  regiment;  Captain  Pleasonton  to  the  com- 
manding officer  of  a  French  Division;  Captain  Nelson  to  the 
commanding  officer  of  the  "Kings  Rifles;"  travel  directions  for 
each  of  us  enclosed;  mine  said  "detrain  at  Ecurie." 

So  we  journeyed  to  Tours  where  we  met  with  some  acquaint- 

65 


ances,  among  them  the  lieutenant-colonel  who  had  gone  A.  W. 
O.  L.  in  Paris.  He  had  a  desk  job,  and  by  the  way,  he  held  that 
job  during  practically  the  whole  war.  Then  we  went  on  to  Paris 
where  we  delayed  two  days.  It  is  possible  that  we  might  have 
stayed  longer,  but  again  we  did  not  visit  No.  10,  Rue  St.  Anne, 
and  it  would  have  been  embarrassing  to  have  been  picked  up 
by  men  of  the  Provost  Marshal— without  permission  for  delay 
from  the  Provost  Marshal — and  we  felt  sure  we  would  have  no 
luck  in  getting  that  permission  if  we  interviewed  him. 

I  tried  to  ticket  from  Gare  dTEst  to  Ecurie,  but  after  much 
broken  French  on  my  part,  found  that  they  would  sell  only  to 
Amiens.  Why  I  could  not  grasp;  but  I  found  out  at  Amiens,  for 
at  this  particular  time  Ecurie  was  about  30  kilometres  inside  the 
German  lines.  At  Amiens  the  English  R.  T.  0.  suggested  that 
I  take  any  train  I  could  get,  refrain  from  buying  a  ticket,  and 
ride  as  far  as  the  train  would  take  me.  Acting  on  this  advice  I 
boarded  one  going  toward  Arras.  The  passengers  were  all 
Canadian  or  English  officers  and  men  returning  from  leave,  and 
it  struck  me  that  they  were  the  most  dismal,  woe-begone  outfit 
I  had  ever  seen.  Among  the  American  officers  I  had  met  every- 
thing was  hilarity  and  a  general  feeling  of  "here's  hoping."  But 
these  officers  who  had  been  in  for  three  years  knew  what  they 
were  up  against,  and  there  was  no  story  telling,  or  conversation, 
or  card  playing  among  them.  So  far  as  a  ticket  was  concerned, 
no  one  connected  with  the  train  crew  seemed  to  care  whether  I 
had  one  or  not;  the  train  officials  evidently  felt  that  anyone  who 
was  fool  enough  to  elect,  or  unlucky  enough  to  be  compelled  to 
go  toward  Arras  could  ride  free  of  charge. 

The  train  pulled  into  Arras,  the  town  nothing  but  a  pile  of 
ruins,  and  under  shell  fire  when  the  train  arrived.  I  hunted  up 
the  British  R.  T.  O.,  as  the  English  officer  occupying  that  posi- 
tion at  Amiens  had  given  me  such  good  advice,  and  I  took  a 
chance  that  this  one  would  be  just  as  good.  Let  me  say,  that 
before  the  war  ended  everyone  was  loud  in  his  praise  of  the 
British  R.  T.  O. — the  Railroad  Transportation  Officer.  The  effi- 
ciency, and  courtesy  of  this  branch  of  the  British  service  was 
most  commendable.    If  there  was  a  French  R.  T.  O.,  he  either 

66 


did  not  know,  or  if  knowing  would  not  tell.  The  American  R. 
T.  0.,  usually  did  not  know — not  his  fault,  for  he  was  not  kept 
informed  outside  of  the  little  bounds  of  his  own  particular 
business,  but  the  British  R.  T.  0.,  was  a  mine  of  valuable  and 
reliable  information. 

My  orders  were  to  report  to  the  3d  Canadian  Division.  This 
Division,  according  to  the  R.  T.  0.,  was  about  35  kilometres  out 
of  Arras.  Calling  the  Headquarters  of  the  Division  on  the 
telephone,  he  informed  them  that  Colonel  Center  of  the  American 
Army  was  at  Arras,  with  an  order  requiring  him  to  report  to 
their  Division.  Just  what  the  conversation  was  that  followed  I 
never  knew,  but  apparently  it  was  a  trifle  spicy.  At  any  rate, 
the  R.  T.  0.,  finally  turned  to  me  and  said,  "There  must  be  some 
mistake;  the  3d  Division  knows  nothing  about  such  an  assign- 
ment." Naturally,  I  recognized  that  British  G.  H.  Q.,  was  not 
accepting  orders  from  American  G.  H.  Q.,  and  that  whatever 
had  led  up  to  n^  receiving  such  an  order  must  have  had  the 
sanction  of  both  British  and  Canadian  authorities.  Calling  to 
mind  the  one  blunder  on  the  order  which  had  been  discovered 
previously — the  instruction  to  detrain  at  Ecurie — I  suggested 
to  the  R.  T.  0.,  that  there  might  be  a  clerical  error  in  the  order, 
and  that  it  might  be  the  2nd  or  4th  Canadian  Division  that  was 
expecting  an  invasion  from  me,  so  he  called  the  headquarters  of 
the  4th  Division,  and  was  informed  that  they  had  been  looking 
for  me  for  the  last  three  days.  My  two  days  in  Paris  rose  up  to 
rebuke  me  at  once.  They  further  said,  "We  will  have  a  car  there 
for  the  Colonel  in  about  three  hours." 

The  ride  out  from  Arras  was  intensely  interesting,  traversing 
as  it  did  roads,  villages  and  country  in  the  Vimy  Ridge  region 
which  had  been  battle  ground  for  the  past  three  years.  The 
headquarters  of  the  Division  were  in  a  chateau  about  two 
kilometres  west  of  the  Ridge,  while  the  Ridge  and  villages  up  to 
and  including  Lievan,  were  held  by  the  Division.  Lens  was 
directly  in  front  of  their  sector,  and  was  the  first  town  east  of 
Lievan. 

They  put  me  up  in  a  room  in  the  chateau,  a  room  next  the  roof, 
and  a  perfectly  good  roof  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  except  in  one 

67 


place  where  a  shell  had  come  along  and  made  a  hole  about  as  big 
as  a  bushel  basket.  General  Sir  David  Watson  was  the  Division 
commander.  On  meeting  him  it  struck  me  that  a  man  so  old  as 
Sir  David  had  no  business  commanding  a  Division;  he  looked 
old,  and  worn,  and  frail;  he  talked  with  considerable  effort;  he 
seemed  absent-minded.  I  had  not  yet  learned  war  values  and 
war  results,  for  some  days  later  I  learned  that  Sir  David  had 
entered  the  war  as  a  major,  had  been  promoted  through  the 
grades  to  Major  General,  had  been  knighted  after  the  taking  of 
Vimy  Ridge,  that  he  was  universally  liked  and  respected  by 
both  officers  and  men,  and  that  he  was  one  year  younger  than 
myself. 

For  two  days  I  was  put  up  at  the  General's  mess.  Then  taking 
one  of  his  aides  into  my  confidence,  I  asked  if  the  General  would 
consider  it  an  affront,  or  lacking  in  courtesy,  if  I  requested  to  be 
transferred  to  Mess  "B"  which  consisted  of  practically  all 
officers  at  headquarters  except  the  General,  his  chief-of-staff, 
his  Division  adjutant,  and  his  two  aides,  I  wanted  to  be  with  the 
men  who  were  in  the  active  part  of  Division  operations,  thinking 
that  I  could  hear  more,  and  see  more  of  methods  and  results  in 
this  way  than  by  being  tied  strictly  to  Division  headquarters. 
The  aide  saw  the  point  at  once,  and  said  he  felt  sure  the  General 
would  feel  the  same  way  about  it.  Later  in  the  day  when  the 
General  and  I  happened  to  meet,  he  said  he  thought  I  was  in 
the  right  and  commended  me  for  the  idea,  and  for  the  wish 
exhibited  to  learn  as  much  as  possible. 

It  will  never  be  possible  for  me  to  express  sufficiently  or  ade- 
quately my  gratitude  to,  and  my  admiration  for  these  officers  of 
the  4th  Canadian  Division.  They  allowed  me  access  to  all  records  , 
orders,  and  plans  both  those  of  the  past,  and  those  projected  for 
the  future;  they  made  me  one  of  them  in  a  social  way;  if  they 
felt  that  I  was  an  outsider  they  successfully  hid  that  feeling  from 
me;  they  did  everything  they  could  to  teach  me  the  things  that 
hard  experience  had  taught  them;  they  took  me  everywhere  in 
the  divisional  area  that  I  wanted  to  go,  in  spite  of  Sir  David's 
prohibition  that  "the  Colonel  is  our  responsibility  to  the  Amer- 
ican Army,  and  he  must  be  kept  out  of  needless  danger." 

68 


But  one  day,  while  inspecting  battery  positions,  and  one  which 
was  near  the  little  Suchez  River  which  had  been  shelled  with  gas 
the  day  previously,  and  in  which  gas  still  held  in  the  low  ground 
along  the  river,  I  managed  to  get  myself  gassed.  Major  Goodeve 
was  my  guide  that  day,  and  as  we  were  walking  along  he  stopped, 
sniffed,  and  said,  "There  is  gas  here."  We  paused  a  few  moments 
and  he  remarked:  "I  don't  believe  there  is  sufficient  concentra- 
tion to  bother  us."  So  we  went  on.  In  a  few  moments  I  began  to 
feel  nausea,  but  as  I  was  a  tenderfoot,  and  as  I  thought  the 
feeling  might  be  due  largely  to  imagination  I  said  nothing.  In  a 
few  moments  more  the  effect  was  sufficiently  marked  to  make  the 
Major  say,  "We  will  beat  it  out  of  here."  We  returned  to  our 
horses,  and  made  our  way  back  to  quarters.  The  nausea  per- 
sisted; my  eyes,  nose  and  throat  were  affected  also,  and  for  the 
next  three  or  four  days  I  felt  wretchedly.  After  this  time  the 
only  remaining  effect  seemed  to  be  that  on  my  voice,  for  it  was 
a  matter  of  about  three  weeks  before  the  voice  was  much  else 
but  a  husky  whisper.  To  show  the  difference  in  the  effects  of 
gas  on  two  people  I  may  say  that  Major  Goodeve  was  made 
uncomfortable,  but  there  were  no  other  results. 

It  was  while  with  this  Division  too,  that  my  toes  were  frozen. 
The  winter  was  extremely  cold  for  northwest  France,  and 
frozen  toes  were  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception.  When  I 
say  that  in  my  open  air  chamber  in  the  chateau  it  was  my  custom 
to  go  to  bed  rolled  up  in  four  army  blankets,  with  a  straw  mat- 
tress under  me,  wearing  my  underclothes,  my  flannel  shirt,  a 
pair  of  heavy  golf  stockings  on  my  legs,  a  sweater,  and  sometimes 
wearing  one  of  the  heavy,  sheep-lined  short  top-coats  then  much 
in  evidence  among  American  army  officers,  and  then  lie  and 
shiver  all  night,  one  can  comprehend  something  of  the  damp  and 
penetrating  cold  with  which  we  had  to  contend. 

Sixteen  days  with  these  Canadian  friends,  and  then  came  an 
order  to  go  to  Staff  College,  at  Langres.  Langres  is  an  extremely 
old  town  and  a  very  picturesque  place;  a  place  which  before  the 
days  of  Big  Berthas  and  Long  Toms  was  a  strategic  point.  Once 
within  the  walls  of  this  city,  stuck  as  it  is  on  the  tip  of  a  hill 
that  rises  like  the  fin  of  a  shark  from  the  surrounding  landscape, 

69 


it  meant  safety  in  the  old  days  for  any  force  holding  it.  Here  is 
found  one  of  the  old  fortresses  of  Henry  of  Navarre  with  its 
griffons,  its  gargoyles,  and  its  squatting  human  figures  projecting 
from  the  walls  underneath  the  cornices.  Here  too,  is  a  road, 
built  by  Julius  Caesar,  used  by  him  for  his  troop  movements, 
and  used  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1918  by  American  troops.  It  is 
a  much  better  road  than  many  American  roads,  too.  Langres  is 
situated  on  this  hill-top  very  similar  to  the  town  of  Hattonchatel 
on  its  hill-top,  and  Hattonchatel  is  one  of  the  lookout  points  of 
the  valley  of  the  Woevre,  and  both  places  are  like  Cassel,  the 
city  where  Marshal  Foch  had  his  headquarters  for  a  considerable 
time. 


70 


CHAPTER  TEN 

Here  in  Langres  the  four  inseparables  were  again  united,  for 
each  of  us  had  received  the  order  to  attend  Staff*  College,  so  as  a 
quartette  we  started  out  to  find  billets.  On  the  second  floor  of 
what  apparently  had  been  an  iron-mongery  shop  in  prosperous 
times,  we  found  an  old  lady  who  lived  in  four  rooms,  a  kitchen, 
a  dining  room,  a  sitting  room  and  a  hall  bedroom.  The  sitting 
room  had  a  fire  place;  neither  the  hall,  bedroom  nor  the  dining 
room  could  be  heated.  This  grandmere,  seventy-eight  years  old, 
lived  here  alone.  Her  only  remaining  son  was  a  medical  officer 
in  the  French  army;  two  other  sons  had  been  killed  during  the 
war.  She  had  never  billeted  officers,  but  either  because  she  liked 
our  looks,  or  because  she  needed  the  one  franc  a  day  which  was 
the  allotted  pay  for  a  room  in  billets,  she  decided  to  take  us  in. 
Pleasonton  and  Nelson  took  the  dining  room;  Stacy  the  hall 
bedroom,  and  a  bed  for  me  was  provided  in  the  sitting  room. 
This  room  was  used  by  all  as  a  common  sitting  room,  and  as  a 
breakfast  room  after  we  had  broached  the  matter  to  the  old  lady 
of  furnishing  us  our  petit  dejeuners.  She  gladly  consented,  and 
named  a  franc  a  meal  as  her  charge.  We  rebelled  at  this  however, 
and  insisted  that  two  francs  a  meal  was  the  very  least  we  would 
pay;  as  a  result  we  ate  omelette,  bread,  some  kind  of  jam,  and 
coffee  or  chocolate  each  morning.  The  lady  could  not  do  enough 
for  us.  As  we  could  draw  firewood  from  the  local  American 
quartermaster,  and  as  all  know  who  were  in  France  that  firewood 
is  more  precious,  and  trees  more  sacred  than  anything  else,  we 
had  material  for  fire  in  our  one  fireplace.  The  old  lady  would 
tip-toe  into  the  room  each  morning  before  daylight,  and  lay  and 
start  our  fire.  She  never  became  quite  reconciled,  however,  to 
the  foolish  plan  we  had  of  getting  up  before  petit  dejeuner,  and 
her  hearty  approval  fell  on  Stacy — who  was  something  of  a 
sleepy-head,  and  who  frequently  did  not  appear  for  breakfast 
with  the  rest  of  the  bunch.  This  gave  an  opportunity  to  grand- 
mere  to  carry  him  his  breakfast  while  he  was  still  in  bed,  a  little 
service  she  quite  enjoyed.    Stacy  was  only  twenty-six  years  old, 

71 


and  an  exceedingly  handsome  fellow,  and  he  was  her  "son,"  her 
"child,"  her  "petite  soldat." 

The  Staff  College  was  modeled  somewhat  on  the  War  College 
at  Washington.  It  was  a  new  venture,  and  at  this  time  was  very 
crude;  it  developed,  however,  into  a  wonderfully  efficient  place. 
In  these  early  days  the  work  was  largely  elementary,  and  the 
Field  Service  Regulations  and  Infantry  Drill  Regulations 
furnished  the  bulk  of  our  text-books.  Experience  was  already 
indicating  that,  so  far  as  the  World  War  was  concerned,  each  of 
these  works  was  passe.  These  two  books  for  class  work,  an 
occasional  map  problem  on  the  terrain,  a  daily  turn  at  equitation, 
and  writing  of  orders  was  all  we  got.  Equitation  was  the  biggest 
farce  of  all.  Under  one  or  another  student  of  the  College — this 
student  being  always  selected  from  the  officer  personnel  from  the 
regular  army— the  student  body  mounted  horses  and  set  out  to 
ride.  The  first  ride  was  one  of  eighteen  kilometres,  with  rain  or 
snow  all  the  way.  Some  of  the  student  officers  had  never  been 
on  a  horse  before;  the  gaits  maintained  were  walk,  trot  and 
gallop,  with  the  trot  predominating.  There  was  no  instruction 
of  any  sort.  The  word  would  be  passed  from  the  head  of  the  col- 
umn, "trot,  and  sit  the  saddle,"  or  "trot,  and  post,"  or  "gallop." 
Many  of  the  mounts  were  unsuitable;  some  were  wild  or  vicious. 
Those  of  us  who  were  accustomed  to  riding  managed  to  stay  in 
column  and  go  back  to  town  with  the  "instructor,"  reaching 
there  after  dark.  Some  were  thrown,  and  walked  back;  some 
straggled  and  got  lost.  One  student,  a  training  camp  captain, 
had  never  been  in  the  saddle  before.  He  managed  to  stay  on  his 
horse  as  the  animal  was  a  fairly  gentle  one,  but  he  could  not  keep 
up  the  pace.  He  became  separated  from  the  column,  got  lost  in 
the  storm  and  darkness,  was  out  nearly  all  night,  and  a  few  hours 
after  his  return  went  violently  insane.  His  body  was  well  covered 
with  bruised  areas,  and  spots  where  the  skin  was  rubbed  off 
from  saddle  contact.  One  colonel  of  infantry,  from  the  regular 
army  too,  refused  after  this  ride  to  take  "equitation,"  saying 
that  if  they  wanted  to  make  a  staff  officer  out  of  him  he  was 
willing,  but  that  he  wasn't  going  to  cooperate  in  acting  a  dam 
fool  while  they  were  doing  it. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  I  went  to  Colonel  Bjornsted,  the 

72 


then  head  of  the  college,  and  asked  to  be  transferred  to  active 
duty  somewhere,  saying  that  I  realized  that,  as  a  full  colonel, 
the  only  place  that  could  possibly  be  open  for  me  on  the  general 
staff  would  be  as  chief-of-staff  to  a  Division,  or  Corps,  and  that 
as  I  did  not  come  from  the  regular  army  it  was  very  doubtful — 
to  my  mind — if  such  a  position  would  every  be  assigned  me.  He 
agreed  heartily  saying,  "You  see  how  many  officers  are  here 
from  the  regular  service,  and  they  will  all  be  looking  for  staff 
jobs  with  possible  promotion,  and  there  is  no  doubt  they  will 
have  the  first  call."  As  a  result  of  this  conversation  he  called 
me  in  five  days  later,  and  said  he  could  assign  me  for  duty  to 
either  the  First  American  Division,  or  to  the  Twenty-sixth 
Division,  the  first  mentioned  being  then  in  the  front  line,  and 
the  other  then  in  a  training  area.  I  selected  duty  with  the  First 
Division  feeling  that  if  there  was  any  Division  in  the  A.  E.  F. 
that  would  see  things  and  be  in  every  move,  it  would  be  this 
Division.  Three  days  later  came  the  orders  to  report  to  the 
commanding  general,  First  Division.  Once  more  an  object  of 
envy,  for  I  think  all  the  National  Guard  officers  at  Staff  College 
envied  me  the  chance. 

The  order  had  come  through  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  which  meant  that  the  first  train  obtainable  would  be 
at  four  o'clock  the  next  morning.  As  the  town  proper  was  more 
than  a  mile  from  the  railroad  station  this  necessitated  getting 
up  early.  The  local  quartermaster  was  interviewed,  and  promised 
to  send  a  Dodge  car  over  to  take  me  down  to  the  station.  Pleason- 
ton  spoke  French  fluently,  so  he  was  deputized  to  tell  the  old 
lady  of  my  impending  departure.  The  news  threw  her  into  a 
flood  of  tears;  she  held  my  hand;  she  patted  my  hand;  she  wept, 
and  she  poured  forth  a  stream  of  colloquial  French  with  such 
profuseness  that  not  even  Pleasonton  could  follow  her.  She 
said  she  was  going  to  get  up  and  get  my  breakfast  for  me,  "the 
last  meal  she  would  ever  provide  for  her  colonel."  Of  course  we 
said  that  a  three  o'clock  breakfast  was  absurd;  that  by  the  time 
breakfast  was  usually  taken  I  would  be  Gondricourt  where 
breakfast  could  be  obtained.  But  grandmere  was  obdurate; 
from  time  to  time  during  the  night  she  crept  into  the  room  to 

73 


place  another  stick  of  wood  on  the  fire  so  that  the  room  would 
be  warm  against  my  arising,  and  at  three  a.  m.  she  began  to 
bring  in  my  breakfast.  As  I  ate  she  sat  silently  and  watched  me, 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  face.  When  I  said  "good-bye"  she 
threw  her  shrunken  old  arms  about  my  neck,  calling  down  the 
blessing  of  le  bon  Dieu  on  my  head,  and  kissing  me  first  on  one 
cheek  and  then  On  the  other.  Then  at  the  last  moment  as  I  was 
leaving  the  room  she  called  me  back,  scuttled  out  of  the  room  and 
returned  with  a  bottle  of  precious,  and  almost  sacred  cordial — 
which  she  said  she  had  procured  from  the  Benedictines  with 
her  own  hand — and  poured  me  out  a  drink,  and  a  generous  one, 
of  the  firey  liquid. 

The  trip,  so  far  as  the  railroad  was  concerned,  ended  for  me 
at  Toul.  Here  the  R.  T.  O.  said,  "Take  the  60  centimetre  to 
Menil-la-Tour  where  you  will  find  the  headquarters  of  the  First 
Division."  In  my  ignorance  I  was  forced  to  ask,  "What  in  Sam 
Hill  is  the  60  centimetre?"  Later  on  that  diminutive  rail  line 
and  I  became  very  well  acquainted. 

On  reporting  at  Menil-la-Tour  to  the  division  adjutant,  I  was 
directed  to  Colonel  King,  chief-of-staff  for  the  Division.  He  in 
turn  presented  me  to  General  Bullard  who  asked  where  I  came 
from,  what  I  wanted,  and  what  branch  of  the  service  I  expected 
to  follow.  After  telling  him  my  experience  at  Staff  College,  and 
of  my  work  with  the  33rd  Division,  and  that  it  was  my  supposition 
that  I  had  been  sent  across  to  familiarize  myself  with  the  work 
of  front  line  transport  as  the  commanding  officer  of  Trains  and 
Military  Police,  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  follow  this  order  and  put 
you  on  duty.  Colonel  Lawton  commands  our  Trains  and  Military 
Police.    You  will  report  to  him  for  duty." 

Colonel  Lawton  proved  to  be  an  old  regular  army  officer — old 
in  point  of  service,  not  years.  He  had  been  connected  with  the 
quartermaster  department  for  some  years  prior  to  the  war.  His 
headquarters  were  in  the  little  village  of  Sanzey,  some  two  kil- 
ometres out  from  Menil-la-Tour,  and  on  reporting  I  was  billeted 
by  him  in  the  house  of  the  village  priest  where  the  Colonel  had 
established  his  headquarters,  his  mess,  and  his  billet,  and  where 
his  supply  officer  was  also  billeted.     Again  I  met  nothing  but 

74 


kindness.  While  on  duty  under  Colonel  Lawton  I  do  not  think 
he  ever  gave  me  an  order.  From  time  to  time  he  would  say,  "Do 
you  object  to  doing  so-and-so?"  But  never  an  outright  command. 
His  duties  took  him  all  over  the  divisional  area,  and  he  took  me 
with  him  practically  all  the  time.  The  work  of  Trains  and 
Military  Police  had  not,  at  this  time,  been  very  definitely  deter- 
mined, and  Colonel  Lawton  as  a  result  was  acting  Zone  Major, 
acting  Camp  Inspector  and  acting  almost  any  odd  job  that 
called  for  the  supervision  of  an  officer  of  considerable  rank. 

The  Toul  sector  was  known  as  "a  quiet  sector,"  but  even  so 
we  averaged  five  casualties  a  day  during  this  Spring  period. 
There  was  but  one  axial  road  going  toward  the  front,  and  on  this 
road  at  Beaumont  was  a  corner  known  as  Death  Corner.  This 
corner  was  shelled  every  day,  or  night,  at  least  once  during  the 
twenty-four  hours,  and  on  some  days  it  was  shelled  half  a  dozen 
times.  While  with  the  Canadians,  Major  Robertson  and  I  were 
in  the  village  of  Lievan  one  afternoon  when  the  Major  said, 
"It's  about  time  for  the  regular  strafe;  we  had  better  get  under- 
ground." So  we  went  into  the  nearest  dugout.  Almost  as  we 
reached  the  bottom  the  strafe  began.  It  lasted  about  twenty 
minutes,  and  then  stopped.  The  Major  said,  "All  over  for  today." 
But  at  Beaumont  there  was  no  regularity;  any  time  seemed  to 
be  the  right  time; the  sight  of  a  flivver, or  a  couple  of  men  walking, 
or  any  sign  of  movement  at  this  point  which  was  under  obser- 
vation by  the  Hun,  was  enough  to  make  him  cut  loose.  All  our 
supplies,  ammunition,  and  foot  troops  went  to  the  front  over 
this  road  and  most  of  our  five  daily  casualities  came  from  here, 
and  no  one  ever  disputed  the  name  of  the  corner  as  being  mala- 
propos. 

Shortly  after  being  billeted  in  Sanzey  there  was  an  occurrence 
which  seemed  laughable  to  me  at  the  time,  and  there  were  some 
features  connected  with  it  that  were  beyond  my  understanding. 
Six  of  us  had  gathered  at  the  priest's  house  one  evening  enjoying 
a  little  game  of  poker.  Of  course  the  windows  were  carefully 
covered,  and  there  were  no  lights  to  indicate  where  the  village 
lay.  But  the  Hun  had  evidently  discovered  that  this  little  town 
was  the  home  of  one  of  the  Divisional  Trains.    Perhaps  he  even 

75 


knew  that  it  was  the  ammunition  train,  for  he  had  ways  and 
means  in  those  days  of  getting  very  accurate  information.  At 
any  rate  as  we  sat  there  playing,  one  of  the  players  suddenly 
stiffened  and  said,  "There's  a  Jerry."  This  meant  only  one 
thing,  an  aeroplane,  and  as  it  was  very  dark  it  meant  a  'plane 
out  on  a  bombing  expedition  whether  it  was  a  Jerry  or  not.  In 
the  next  minute  a  dispute  arose  as  to  whether  it  was  a  Hun  'plane 
or  one  of  ours,  some  declaring  it  did  not  have  the  right  sound  for 
a  Jerry.  But  the  game  broke  up,  then  and  there.  That  seemed 
queer  to  me,  for  it  was  too  dark  to  go  outside  and  try  to  see  the 
'plane,  and  if  it  was  looking  for  Sanzey  it  had  to  find  the  place 
in  the  dark  first,  and  even  if  located  it  might  miss  the  whole 
works  when  it  did  cut  loose.  But  that  game  was  broken  up. 
One  officer  paced  the  floor  back  and  forth,  a  strained,  ashy  look 
on  his  face;  another  went  over  and  laid  himself  face  downward 
on  the  bed;  two  went  outside  in  the  darkness  and  were  not  seen 
again  that  night.  The  whole  thing  was  incomprehensible  to  me, 
for  I  reasoned,  and  reasoned  rightly,  that  we  were  but  one  house 
in  the  whole  village,  and  that  to  do  us  any  particular  harm  the 
fellow  had  to  get  a  direct  hit — a  thing  as  full  of  chance  as  an  egg 
is  of  meat.  I  had  not  learned,  or  felt  that  unexplainable  feeling 
of  apprehension  which  developed  in  practically  every  man  after 
going  through  the  receiving  end  of  a  bombing  expedition,  a 
feeling  that  can  perhaps  be  explained  by  saying  that  a  plane  up 
on  a  dark  night  seems,  from  the  sound,  to  be  directly  overhead, 
over  your  head,  when  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  may  be  half  a  mile 
or  more  to  one  side  of  the  direct  perpendicular  above  you. 

Soon  our  anti-aircraft  guns  opened,  and  then  the  machine 
guns  began  their  rat-a-tat-tat,  and  about  that  time  Jerry  cut 
loose  his  first  bomb.  It  was  half  a  mile  or  more  outside  the 
village.  Then  came  another  which  was  about  two  hundred 
yards  from  our  back  door — and  the  priest's  house  was  the  easter- 
most  house  in  the  village — and  when  Jerry  laid  his  last  egg  he 
had  passed  completely  over  the  town,  and  all  he  hit  was  a  sugar 
beet  field  well  away  on  the  hillside.  Later  on  I  learned  of  the 
feeling  that  comes  to  a  man  on  the  ground  when  he  knows  that 

76 


Jerry  is  trying  to  drop  from  thirty-five  to  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  of  high  explosive  on  his  head. 


The  following  letter  written  to  Quincy  Consistory  bears  date 
of  March  19,  1918. 

Headquarters  1st  American  Division, 
A.  P.  O.  729,  A.  E.  F. 

There  has  come  to  me  here  a  copy  of  an  extract  from  the  call  of 
the  Sovereign  Grand  Commander,  to  which  is  added  words  of 
our  own  Commander,  S.  I.  Bragg — words  which  have  reached 
across  land  and  sea  to  carry  their  message  of  fraternity,  of  en- 
couragement, of  loyalty  and  of  brotherly  remembrance.  To  him 
who  is  at  home,  who  feels  no  immediate  effect  of  this  world-war 
upon  his  security  or  safety,  who  goes  and  comes  upon  the  business 
of  the  day,  whose  family  and  friends  are  about  him  with  the 
comforting  effect  of  their  presence,  whose  eye  cannot  see,  and 
whose  ear  cannot  hear  the  storm  of  destruction  and  death  that 
rages  over  this  portion  of  the  surface  of  the  earth,  that  one  cannot 
conceive  of  the  satisfaction,  the  warm  glow  of  appreciation  one 
feels  on  receiving  such  a  message.  "Behold  how  great  a  matter 
a  little  fire  kindleth."  To  you  at  home  that  letter — while  not  a 
perfunctory  thing,  while  sent  with  the  kindliest  motives — was 
sent  with  incredulity  on  the  part  of  some  as  to  its  value;  by 
some  it  was  promptly  forgotten  as  are  many  of  the  things  we 
say  and  the  things  we  do  in  the  passing  days.  But  the  spark  of 
brotherly  love  was  in  it,  and  that  spark  was  so  fanned  by  its 
long  journey,  and  by  the  effect  of  this  foreign  clime,  that  what 
was  originally  a  spark  is  a  warm,  revivifying  flame  to  me.  There 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  the  same  result  wherever  it  was  sent. 

I  wish  it  were  within  the  power  of  my  words,  and  within  the 
limitations  of  our  orders  relative  to  the  sending  of  communica- 
tions, to  describe  to  you  the  impressions  received,  the  sights 
seen,  the  emotions  felt,  and  the  lessons  learned  in,  and  from  this 
war.  And  if  to  me,  who  am  no  more  than  on  the  edge  of  the 
seething  whirlpool,  what  must  it  be  and  mean  to  one  who  has 
been  thrown  hither  and  yon  for  years  in  this  vortex?   It  is  all  too 

77 


vast  for  words;  it  is  not  a  war  as  we'of  middle  years  have  learned 
to  know  the  word;  there  is  no  romance,  no  chivalry  as  we  have 
mentally  painted  those  terms.  There  is  chivalry  though  such  as 
modern  civilization  does  not  know  exists,  a  chivalry  which  does 
not  blazon  its  path  with  banners,  nor  herald  its  coming  with 
trumpets;  a  chivalry  which  does  not  depend  upon  gentle  blood, 
high  lineage,  or  commissioned  rank.  It  is  an  almost  universal 
chivalry,  a  quiet,  determined,  intelligent  walking  into  the  face 
of — of  what?  Of  death  in  an  unknown  form  for  the  sake  of  an 
ideal.  Men  have  lived  in  the  past,  and  will  live  again  in  the 
future  who  will  brave,  with  calmness,  death  at  the  cannon's 
mouth ;  they  have  become  accustomed  to  cannon  and  such  death 
has  no  terrors  for  them.  More  than  this,  if  a  man  knows  the 
nature  of  his  enemy  he  will  unconsciously  prepare  his  mind  so 
that  he  will  meet  that  enemy  with  a  considerable  degree  of  tran- 
quility. Today  the  man  goes  forth  knowing  that  there  are  many 
deadly  enemies,  many  dangers  and  deaths  instead  of  only  one. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  cannon,  but  is  "What  particular  kind  of 
violence  will  try  to  rob  me  of  my  life?"  Will  it  be  shrapnel?  Will 
it  be  small  high  explosive?  Will  it  be  monster  high  explosive 
whose  blast  may  wipe  him  so  out  of  existence  that  no  fragment 
will  ever  be  seen  again?  Will  the  death  agent  come  in  the  in- 
sidious, lurking  gas,  and  if  by  gas  which  one  of  the  various  ones? 
Will  he  drop  from  the  earth  with  his  first  or  second  breath,  or 
will  it  be  the  kind  that  will  leave  him  strangling,  suffocating  for 
hours  before  death  relieves  his  agony?  Will  the  great  unknown 
come  to  him  from  the  level  of  the  earth,  or  by  a  bolt  from  the 
heavenly  blue?  Will  the  substantial  hilltop  on  which  he  stands 
suddenly  split  in  twain  vomit  its  bowels  into  the  air,  and  settle 
back  to  bury  him  alive  under  many  feet  of  soil?  Will  he  become 
entangled  and  impaled  among  the  barbed  wire  to  remain  a  help- 
less target  until  some  friendly  bullet  brings  relief?  Does  this 
seem  overdrawn  to  you?  If  it  does,  let  me  say  that  the  human 
mind  cannot  overdraw  the  awfulness  of  this  conflict,  and  that 
these  words  are  merely  a  bald  recital  of  a  few  of  the  conditions. 

More  than  this — and  what  has  been  said  is  said  to  emphasize 
wThat  follows — I  want  to  say  that  the  boys  and  men  who  face 

78 


these  conditions  calmly  and  bravely  from  day  to  day,  boys  and 
men  who  come  from  the  farm  and  from  the  city,  from  homes  of 
luxury  and  from  the  slums,  who  are  intelligent  and  thoughtful, 
who  know  what  stands  before  them — these  boys  and  men  are 
showing  the  world  as  high  a  degree  of  valor,  and  as  pure  chivalry 
as  has  ever  been  sung  by  bard,  painted  by  an  artist,  or  penned 
by  a  poet.  There  is  an  underlying  something  in  these  men  that 
is  greater  than  bravery  or  valor.  There  is  no  mawkish  sentiment 
about  it;  everyone  seems  engaged  in  attending  merely  to  the 
business  of  the  day.  In  fact  the  whole  stupendous  thing  is  a 
business,  and  without  words  or  music,  almost  without  command, 
each  one  seems  going  quietly  about  the  business  of  "As  He  died 
to  make  men  holy  let  us  die  to  make  men  free." 

From  still  another  angle  of  thought  your  letter  has  appealed 
to  me.  "Let  our  thoughts  of  comfort  be  of  comfort  to  him,  and 
those  nearest  to  him  in  the  flesh,"  are  the  words  of  S.  I.  Bragg. 
To  you  at  home  it  doubtless  appears  that  those  who  have  gone 
away,  who  may  be  cold,  or  hungry,  or  sick,  or  wounded  or  im- 
prisoned, are  the  ones  who  suffer  most,  but  if  you  will  leave  the 
decision  to  those  who  have  left  families  behind  them  you  will 
receive  the  answer,  "Our  discomforts  are  infinitely  less  than  their 
sorrow  and  anxiety." 

It  is  the  same  old  principle  of  punishment,  where  the  guilty 
suffer  and  the  innocent  suffer  more.  The  child  is  naughty;  the 
mother  punishes  the  child  and  the  child  suffers,  but  the  mother — 
loving  even  as  she  punishes — and  punishing  because  she  loves — 
suffers  more.  The  criminal  is  tried  and  condemned.  No  one 
enjoys  the  business  of  awarding  him  imprisonment  or  death,  but 
it  is  done  for  the  good  of  society.  The  criminal  suffers,  but  his 
family  and  friends  suffer  more  than  he  does.  A  nation  grows 
mad  with  lust  for  power;  its  greed  is  so  great  that  it  overthrows 
all  recognized  equity  and  decency;  it  is  put  on  trial  by  the 
nations  of  the  earth.  No  one  enjoys  the  trial;  the  jurors  in  the 
case  are  not  comfortable,  but  they  have  faith  that  this  nation 
will  be  punished,  will  be  purged  of  its  lust  for  greed  and  its  greed 
for  lust;  during  the  trial  the  jurors  will  suffer;  the  innocent  world 
from  which  this  jury  is  drawn  will  suffer  more,  and  there  is  no 

79 


doubt  that  the  Great  Judge  sitting  on  High  will  suffer  most  of  all. 
It  comes  to  me  as  I  write  that  perhaps  this  is  the  road  to  an 
ultimate  perfection;  that  the  words  "made  perfect  through 
suffering"  have  a  real  and  vital  meaning  to  us,  and  that  two 
apparently  conflicting  portions  of  Holy  Writ  are  entirely  in 
accord  one  with  the  other.  Through  pain  and  suffering  the 
mother  brings  forth  her  child;  then  in  that  little  world— for  the 
great  world  is  merely  an  accumulation  of  many  little  worlds — 
there  is  "peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  man."  In  that  little 
world  is  harmony,  contentment,  joy.  That  child  grows,  develops, 
becomes  a  man,  a  thinking  force.  There  are  wrongs  to  right,  and 
because  he  is  a  force,  and  a  thinking,  reasoning  being  he  can 
righteously  say,  "I  come,  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword." 

But  I  did  not  intend  to  preach  a  sermon,  nor  to  burden  you 
with  a  lot  of  disjointed  utterances.  My  heart  reaches  out  to  all 
members  of  the  Craft.  My  message  to  you  is  that  the  good  of 
humanity  at  this  hour  needs  every  helping  hand,  and  every 
helpful  word  the  Craft  can  supply;  that  the  principles  of  Mason- 
ry— than  which  principles  there  are  none  higher  outside  of  the 
Holy  Bible — make  it  your  privilege  and  your  duty  to  direct 
every  hand,  and  every  voice  in  the  support  of  this  war  so  that 
an  early  and  decisive  result  may  be  obtained,  for  I  say  to  you 
in  all  solemnity,  that  if  a  decisive  result  is  not  obtained,  if  justice, 
national  honor,  mercy  and  righteousness  are  not  securely  en- 
throned by  an  unquestioned  victory,  that  our  children  for  many 
generations  will  have  cause  to  curse  the  memory  of  us. 


Life  in  the  Toul  sector  was  rather  humdrum.  One  item  which 
came  along  and  which  proved  valuable  in  later  service,  was  the 
dipping  of  all  the  horses  and  mules  of  the  Division.  When  the 
first  units  of  the  A.  E.  F.  went  overseas  there  was  the  feeling 
among  some  of  the  officers  that  men  and  animals  not  only  had 
to  be  trained,  but  must  be  hardened  by  actual  hardship,  in  order 
to  endure  the  life  made  necessary  by  the  conditions  of  warfare 
in  France.  Something  of  the  same  idea  was  prevalent  in  some  of 
the  divisional  and  other  camps,  in  this  country.  The  result  was 
that  in  the  First  Division,  both  men  and  transport  animals  during 

80 


the  winter  just  passed,  had  lived  as  much  as  possible  in  the  open 
air,  day  and  night.  The  mere  fact  that  the  ground  was  usually 
muddy,  and  the  atmosphere  always  damp — excepting  when  it 
was  worse — made  no  difference.  Consequently  both  men  and 
brutes  had  lived  in  the  rain  and  snow,  and  had  done  considerable 
sleeping  in  the  mud  in  order  to  harden  them.  The  animals  had 
been  tied  to  picket  lines  in  open  fields,  or  in  the  woods,  with  no 
horse  covers,  and  no  standings  other  than  the  mud.  More  than 
this,  these  animals  had  come  to  the  Division  infected  with  mange, 
and  infested  with  lice.  The  result  was  we  had  5000  mangy, 
lousy,  run-down,  sick  animals.  General  Bullard  finally  ob- 
tained permission  to  have  a  concrete  dipping  vat  constructed, 
and  all  the  animals  were  dipped.  This  was  in  the  first  half  of 
March.  Some  of  the  animals  were  so  weak  they  had  to  be  pulled 
out  of  the  vat  after  the  plunge ;  all  went  back  to  the  picket  lines 
and  the  cold;  some  promptly  died  as  a  result  of  the  disease  and 
its  cure. 

Coming  as  I  had,  from  a  Canadian  Division  where  experience 
had  taught  them  that  increased  efficiency  and  lengthened  service 
was  obtained  by  sparing  the  men  and  animals  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  where,  if  a  transport  outfit  expected  to  remain  in  one 
place  longer  than  a  night  they  invariably  put  in  firm  and  reason- 
ably dry  standings  for  the  animals,  where  horse  covers  were 
universally  used  on  animals  in  the  open,  and  where  mange  or  lice 
would  have  been  considered  justification  for  a  court-martial  for 
some  responsible  officer,  the  difference  in  results  struck  me  very 
forcibly.  It  was  no  uncommon  thing  in  France,  to  have  animals 
put  on  a  picket  rope  in  a  new  place,  on  a  hillside,  or  on  the  top 
of  a  knoll  where  there  was  no  indication  of  mud,  or  even  of  soft 
ground,  and  to  find  these  same  animals  in  mud  well  above  the 
fet-locks  the  next  morning.  Add  to  this  the  wet  season  of  the 
year,  and  one  can  begin  to  realize  how  deep  this  mud  could 
become. 


81 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

Came  the  latter  part  of  March  and  with  it  an  order  for  the 
Division  to  pull  out  of  the  Toul  sector.  The  infantry  was  to  be 
transported  by  train;  the  artillery  was  to  go  overland,  and  the 
trains  overland  to  a  point  in  the  vicinity  of  Montdidier.  The 
artillery  horses  were  so  weak  and  emaciated  that  General 
Sumerall,  commanding  the  artillery,  ordered  that  all  drivers  and 
cannoneers  must  walk. 

The  orders  for  the  Trains  prescribed  that  the  Signal  battalion 
which  was  equipped  with  Fiat  trucks,  should  lead;  the  Sanitary 
train  with  its  G.  M.  C.'s  was  to  come  next;  then  the  Supply  train 
with  its  A.  E.  C.'s  and  the  rest  of  the  heterogenous  mixture  of 
trucks,  and  the  Ammunition  train  with  its  F.  W.  D.'s  and  its 
Quads  should  bring  up  the  rear,  and  a  speed  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour  was  to  be  maintained.  This  was  easy  for  the  Fiats  and 
G.  M.  C.'s,  practically  impossible  for  the  Supply  train  and 
utterly  impossible,  and  even  ridiculous  for  the  Quads  and  F.  W. 
D.'s  which  were  heavily  loaded  with  cannon  fodder. 

Colonel  Lawton  was  far  from  well.  He  held  out  the  first  day 
of  the  hike,  but  the  fact  that  his  trains  were  scattered  from  Dan 
to  Beersheba  that  first  day  so  worried  him  that  he  could  neither 
eat  nor  sleep.  The  Supply  train,  by  driving  part  of  the  night, 
and  the  Ammunition  train  by  driving  all  of  that  first  night,  had 
managed  to  close  the  gap  in  the  column,  but  men  who  have 
driven  a  Quad  truck  steadily  for  twenty-four  hours  are  of  no 
use  for  another  twelve  hours  at  least,  so  nothing  was  gained  by 
this  all-night  driving. 

In  his  illness,  Colonel  Lawton  turned  the  handling  of  the 
Supply  and  Ammunition  trains  over  to  me,  giving  me  also  his 
adjutant  Captain  McLean.  The  Captain  was  traveling  in  a  side 
car,  and  could  be  used  to  send  ahead  in  order  to  provide  billets 
for  us  at  the  close  of  the  day.  Then  Colonel  Lawton  went  ahead 
with  the  leading  units  of  the  column.  While  it  was  contrary  to 
specific  orders  it  appeared  to  me  that  it  was  better  to  get  the 

82 


two  trains  to  their  destination  later  than  the  original  schedule 
rather  than  to  leave  a  goodly  portion  of  each  one  somewhere  along 
the  roadside.  Also,  if  my  decision  to  reduce  the  hourly  mileage 
rate  got  me  into  trouble  I  determined  to  fall  back  on  the  excuse 
that  where  the  travel  order  said  twelve  miles  an  hour,  I  under- 
stood that  it  meant  a  maximum  of  twelve  miles,  and  not  a 
mandatory  twelve  miles  per  hour.  The  Signal  battalion  and  the 
Sanitary  train  made  the  schedule;  the  Supply  train  was  two 
days  later  than  schedule  time,  and  the  Ammunition  train  took 
four  days  extra,  but  every  truck  in  each  train  finished  that  move 
of  nearly  three  hundred  kilometres,  and  no  one  got  a  wigging 
because  the  original  order  was  not  carried  out  to  the  letter. 
More  than  this,  it  is  a  good  bet  that  never  again  in  the  A.  E.  F. 
were  orders  issued  for  ordinary  cargo  trucks  to  maintain  a  speed 
of  twelve  miles  an  hour  for  a  long  journey. 


How  true  it  was  I  do  not  know,  but  a  French  officer  once  said 
to  me  "We  do  not  want  a  flyer  in  a  combat  'plane  who  has  good 
sense.."  It  is  likely  that  it  was  a  mere  figure  of  speech  for  certainly 
France  had  many  Aces  who  could  not  be  put  in  the  imbecile  class. 
But  with  this  remark  in  mind  it  was  of  particular  interest  one 
night  in  LaFerte-sous-Jouarre,  in  April  1918,  to  sit  down  at  the 
table  with  fifteen  French  flyers,  some  of  them  the  pick  of  the 
French  escadrilles. 

It  was  while  the  first  Division  was  crossing  from  the  Toul 
sector  to  Montdidier.  Three  of  us,  Americans,  and  these  French 
flyers  were  the  only  guests  at  this  particular  hostelry.  The  town 
was  just  back  of  the  fighting  line  and  sufficiently  near  to  the 
advancing  Hun  line  so  that  it  was  shunned  by  the  traveling 
public,  and  was  largely  deserted  by  the  inhabitants. 

The  three  of  us  were  at  dinner  when  the  French  arrived.  There 
was  but  the  one  large  table  in  the  dining  room,  so  we  made  one 
party  although  the  table  was  sufficiently  long  to  leave  a  few 
vacant  seats  between  the  two  groups.  Naturally  there  was  a 
little  polite  fraternization  at  once,  but  the  lives  of  the  two 
groups,  and  the  military  activities  of  the  two  parties  had  so 

83 


little  in  common  that  the  Americans  soon  were  content  to  be 
listeners  and  lookers.  From  the  conversation  it  appeared  that 
these  men  had  been  flying  and  fighting  for  several  days  and  had 
just  now  been  given  one  night  off  for  rest  and  relaxation;  they 
were  here  with  the  avowed  intention  of  having  a  good  time,  a 
good  dinner,  and  of  forgetting  themselves  with  wine  and  brandy. 
Their  faces  and  physiques  made  an  interesting  study.  Almost 
at  once  one  could  place  every  man  in  one  of  three  classes,  though 
some  of  them  showed  evidence  of  belonging  in  two  of  these  three 
classes.  There  was  represented  the  class  of  which  my  French 
informant  had  spoken  'The  man  who  did  not  have  good  sense:' 
two  or  three  of  the  fifteen  could  qualify  here;  there  was  stupidity, 
cupidity,  hero-worship,  butterfly-chasing,  and  lack  of  mentality 
in  general  all  shown  at  once  in  this  group.  Then  there  was  the 
reckless,  desperate  man;  the  man  who  got  his  fun  in  trying  to  do 
the  impossible;  the  man  who  would  stop  at  nothing  because  he 
cared  nothing.  One  individual  in  particular  qualified  in  this 
class.  He  was  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  ever  saw,  a  man 
possibly  27  or  28  years  old,  whose  entire  face  and  manner,  con- 
versation and  everything  about  him  indicated  that  he  lived  only 
to  take  chances,  and  this  was  his  record;  he  could  not,  and  would 
not  live  unless  he  could  venture  his  life  in  some  extra-hazardous 
way.  And  then  there  was  the  criminal  type — the  hard,  cold, 
quick-thinking,  merciless  Apache.  Naturally  some  of  this  latter 
class  also  qualified  in  the  reckless  and  desperate  class  but  those 
in  the  reckless  class  did  not  necessarily  qualify  in  the  Apache 
class.  These  two  classes  did  their  own  thinking  while  the  first 
class  had  its  thinking  done  for  it  by  someone  else;  they  were  the 
imitators  who  did  what  they  had  seen  others  do,  or  who  did  what 
they  were  told  to  do,  and  who  did  not  have  a  sufficient  mentality 
to  realize,  or  a  sufficient  nervous  organization  to  be  apprehensive 
of  the  terrors  and  possibilities  of  the  things  they  did. 

What  became  of  these  men?  God  knows.  One  day  while  in 
4th.  British  Army  five  British  flyers  ate  at  my  mess.  The  next 
day  two  of  them  were  killed  and  I  shall  always  believe  that  one 
of  the  two,  a  hardy  Scot,  was  convinced  that  his  end  was  at 
hand  for  never  have  I  seen  a  man  so  pre-occupied,  never  one 

84 


who  could  sit  and  stare  into  vacancy  with  a  so  expressionless 
face  as  this  man.  He  must  have  seen  the  handwriting  on  the  wall; 
he  must  have  been  convinced  the  next  day  when  he  took  the  air 
that  there  were  no  more  days  of  fighting  for  him.  Brave  men 
all,  whether  French  or  British,  whether  desperate,  reckless, 
hopeless,  plaudit-seeking  or  patriotic,  whether  criminal  or  law- 
abiding. 

Division  headquarters  in  the  new  locality  were  established 
first  at  Chaumont — not  the  Chaumont  of  G.  H.  Q.,  however. 
After  we  had  been  there  a  few  days  the  Division  had  a  visit 
from  General  Pershing,  who  requested  that  all  the  officers  be 
gathered  at  Chaumont  so  that  he  might  address  them;  the  address 
was  to  tell  us  that  we  were  to  go  into  line  in  an  active  sector; 
that  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  would  be  upon  us;  that  probably 
many  within  the  sound  of  his  voice  would  never  return  to  the 
United  States,  but  would,  in  the  drive  then  contemplated,  lay 
down  their  lives  to  prove  that  justice  and  righteousness  still 
exist  on  earth.*  Much  as  we  all  admired  General  Pershing,  still 
this  speech  did  not  make  much  of  a  hit  with  us. 

In  a  few  days  the  Division  headquarters  moved  up  to  Menil- 
St.-Georges,  a  village  immediately  west  of  the  angle  of  the 
Montdidier  salient,  and  the  Division  went  into  line.  The  head- 
quarters of  the  Trains,  and  of  some  of  the  transport  companies, 
was  established  at  Noyers-St.  Martin  just  south  of  Montdidier. 
It  was  while  here  at  Noyers  that  Colonel  Clayton,  Division 
quartermaster,  two  of  his  officers,  and  three  of  his  men  were 
killed  by  a  bomb  from  an  aeroplane.  It  was  while  the  Division 
was  in  this  sector  too,  that  there  was  fought  the  battle  of  Can- 
tigny,  a  comparatively  small  action,  but  one  which  proved  that 
the  Americans  would  fight,  and  one  that  disproved  the  French 
belief  that  foot  soldiers  could  not  dislodge  troops  well  intrenched 
for  weeks,  for  the  18th  and  26th  U.  S.  infantry  regiments  went 
forward,  and  in  their  successive  thin  brown  lines,  not  only  dis- 
lodged troops  well  intrenched,  but  dislodged  and  captured  troops 
well  established  in  dug-outs  and  bomb-proofs. 


85 


Somewhere  in  France,  April  4,  1918. 

You  probably  remember  that  there  was  once  a  famous  king  who 
"marched  10,000  up  the  hill,  then  marched  them  down  again." 
As  I  recall  that  incident  there  was  always  a  little  feeling  of 
derision  for  that  king;  one  felt  that  he  wasn't  kinging  in  a  very 
effective  way;  that  if  there  was  reason  for  going  up  the  hill  he 
should  at  least  have  stayed  up  there.  Dates  have  changed,  kings 
have  changed,  but  the  custom  still  remains.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
if  that  old  king  was  here  in  France,  and  he  wanted  to  march 
anywhere  he  would  have  to  march  either  up  or  down  for  a  short 
hike,  and  if  he  wanted  to  keep  on  marching  from  breakfast  until 
the  whistle  blew,  he  would  have  to  march  both  up  and  down, 
for  this  country  is  that  kind.  You  are  either  going  up  or  down 
every  time  you  move. 

There  is  an  erroneous  general  idea  about  army  life,  too.  In 
reading  the  papers  one  gets  the  idea  that  the  soldier  rolls  out 
of  his  blanket  about  the  time  the  rooster  crows,  cTrinks  a  tin  cup 
of  coffee,  eats  a  slice  of  bacon,  and  then  goes  out  and  fights  until 
the  shroud  of  darkness  covers  the  earth.  He  don't  do  anything 
of  the  kind.  He  is  routed  out  of  his  blanket,  has  his  coffee  and 
bread,  or  maybe  beans  or  hash — for  bacon  doesn't  grow  here — and 
then  he  marches  up  and  down  hill  all  day,  going  somewhere  so 
that  he  will  have  a  good  place  to  start  from  to  go  somewhere  the 
next  day.  My  powers  of  observation  are  not  great,  but  finally 
I  have  Sherlock-Holmesed  the  matter  of  strategy  in  this  war. 
The  whole  thing  is  this:  The  Hun  has  his  Taube,  or  maybe  his 
Folker  in  the  air.  The  observer  sees  troops  marching  southwest 
or  northeast,  and  so  reports.  Another  observer  sends  in  word  to 
Hun  headquarters  that  they — the  Allies — are  marching  troops 
in  a  circle,  and  still  another  signals  in  that  "the  enemy  is  advanc- 
ing straight  up  and  down."  By  this  time  the  Hun  headquarters 
are  dizzy,  and  orders  are  issued  like  this:  "The  enemy  is  advanc- 
ing in  every  direction;  our  supporting  troops  heavily  armed  with 
German  propaganda  are  near  at  hand  in  the  U.  S.  A.  This  army 
will  march  at  7  a.  m.  You  will  march  out  in  dense  masses,  and 
will  soon  find  yourselves  shot  up  from  all  sides.    This  will  mean 

86 


that  you  have  encircled  the  enemy,  for  he  will  be  completely 
around  you.  It  will  be  a  glorious  victory  if  you  don't  get  killed 
first.    Gott  mit  uns." 

All  joking  aside,  for  me  at  least  war  is  going  to  one  place  in 
order  to  be  ordered  somewhere  else.  This  present  one  has  been 
my  longest  stop  anywhere  in  France,  and  I  haven't  been  here  a 
month  yet,  and  now  I'm  to  move  on.  The  Wandering  Jew,  and 
"the  man  without  a  country"  were  anchored  to  immovable  rocks 
compared  to  myself.  After  an  experience  on  two  different  fronts, 
I'm  honest  in  saying  that  pinochle  is  a  better  game  than  this. 
What  the  results  on  the  coming  front  will  decide  will  have  to  go 
over  until  some  future  letter. 

Now,  if  I  remember  correctly,  more  than  a  year  ago  in  the 
Rotary  Club,  I  made  myself  possibly  obnoxious,  certainly  was 
called  an  alarmist,  because  of  making  a  declaration  that  we 
would  be  in  this  war,  and  that  the  United  States  did  not  begin  to 
realize  the  gravity  of  this  war,  the  awfulness  of  this  war,  and  the 
need  for  every  one  of  us  doing  his  bit.  This  line  of  opinion  I 
wish  to  reiterate  and  make  more  emphatic  than  ever.  The 
Rotary  Club  is  one  of  the  active,  moving,  result-getting  organ- 
izations of  the  world.  It  will  not  live  up  to  its  privileges,  will  not 
do  its  patriotic  duty  as  a  body  unless,  as  a  body,  it  devotes  its 
brains  and  energy  to  the  support  of  this  war.  When  I  say  this  I 
do  not  mean  to  reflect  upon  the  organization  at  all;  nor  do  I 
disparage,  nor  question  the  efforts  of  individuals  among  its 
members.  But  individual  effort  is  not  enough;  routine  Club 
support  is  not  enough;  there  must  be  concentration  of  Rotary 
brains  and  Rotary  genius  on  definite  lines  of  support.  Somewhere 
there  must  be  found  a  genius  in  the  matter  of  food  supply;  one 
for  the  question  of  equipment  for  the  men;  one  for  the  problem 
of  transportation;  one  for  the  devising  of  more  adequate -sub- 
marine protection;  one  for  the  popularizing  of  the  war  within  the 
United  States;  for  the  effective  suppression  of  German  propa- 
ganda within  the  states;  one  for  a  propaganda  for  instilling 
within  the  people  of  our  country  such  a  sense  of  loyalty,  and  for 
developing  within  their  veins  such  a  proportion  of  iron,  that  the 
front  line  trenches  in  France  will  be  a  safer  place  than  the 

87 


United  States  for  anyone  who  remains  either  actively,  or  pas- 
sively a  pro-German.  The  systems  that  have  been  used  and  are 
being  used,  the  crimes  that  have  been  committed  and  are  being 
committed,  the  false-hoods  that  have  been,  and  are  being  told 
by  the  German  militarists,  are  more  than  sufficient  to  cause  us 
to  look  upon  them,  not  as  enlightened,  civilized  beings;  they 
have  gone  so  far  that  the  world  owes  them  naught  but  punish- 
ment. Here  is  a  very  small  illustration  of  the  way  the  German 
enlisted  man  is  being  taught. 

A  few  days  ago  some  German  prisoners  were  brought  in;  one 
could  talk  English.  He  calmly 'asked,  "When  will  we  be  shot?" 
He  was  told  that  unless  he  tried  to  escape  he  stood  no  chance 
of  being  shot;  that  what  we  did  to  prisoners  was  to  warm  them, 
feed  them,  and  send  them  to  the  rear.  He  had  difficulty  in  be- 
lieving this  for  a  time,  but  when  the  heat  and  food  were  furnished 
them  he  seemed  to  grasp  the  fact  that  he  had  been  told  the  truth 
and  in  a  voice  fairly  trembling  with  eagerness  asked  if  it  would  be 
possible  for  him  to  get  word  to  his  brother  who  had  not  been 
captured  to  get  himself  captured  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
added,  "if  the  battalion  knew  that  you  do  not  shoot  your 
prisoners  every  one  of  them  would  come  across  No  Man's  Land 
and  be  prisoners." 

But  I  have  gotten  off  the  subject.  The  thing,  as  it  resolves 
itself,  is  this:  We  can  strike  a  light  blow,  get  a  light  result,  and 
have  to  strike  many  more  light  blows  before  a  decision  is  reached. 
I  think  I  am  well  within  the  bounds  when  I  say,  that,  counting 
from  the  time  when  the  American  forces  went  into  line,  our  losses 
from  battle  and  from  illness  will  run  250,000  a  year.  The  losses 
may  run  much  higher.  If  the  struggle  is  prolonged  two,  five,  or 
more  years  it  is  easy  to  compute  what  our  losses  will  be.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  we  could  hit  one  mighty  blow,  say  with  a  million 
or  more  men,  bring  an  immediate  decisive  result,  take  the  losses 
which  such  a  blow  would  entail — and  there  is  nothing  in  history, 
or  in  the  present  war  to  make  one  think  that  they  would  run  as 
high  as  250,000 — you  can  easily  see  how  much  time,  and  how 
many  valuable  lives  can  be  conserved  by  the  latter  method. 
Over  here  we  get  the  Paris  editions  of  the  New  York  Herald,  the 

88 


Chicago  Tribune  and  the  London  Mail.  From  these  papers  I 
draw  the  conclusions  that  the  people  of  the  States  do  not  realize 
the  gravity  of  the  situation.  The  dagger  has  not  yet  entered  the 
heart;  the  matter  is,  as  yet,  more  or  less  an  impersonal  one.  But 
this  is  your  war;  this  is  for  your  benefit.  It  does  not  matter 
whether  Center  comes  back  or  not;  the  world  will  go  on  just  the 
same;  but  it  does  matter  to  10,000,  yes  to  10,000,000  homes 
whether  this  war  is  fought  to  a  decisive  result,  whether  German 
ideas  and  Junker  ideals  are  forever  abolished,  and  it  does  matter 
that  such  a  result  shall  be  produced  as  quickly  as  possible. 

If,  through  the  Rotary  Club,  the  country  could  be  shown  that 
inertia,  slowness,  indifference,  apathy  and  slackness  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  killing  of  good,  patriotic,  young  American  men, 
then  that  one  thing  alone  would  put  the  Rotary  Club  in  the  halls 
of  fame.  More  than  this,  the  gratitude  of  multitudes  of  mothers, 
sisters  and  wives  would  be  greater  than  any  other  pedestal  upon 
which  Rotary  could  be  placed.  I  do  not  get  any  mail,  but  have 
confidence  that  somewhere  in  France  there  is  a  great  deal  for 
me,  and  some  day  I  hope  to  connect  with  it.  In  the  meantime 
please  believe  me  that  I  haven't  done  anything  yet  to  make  you 
ashamed  of  me. 

Just  before  the  battle  of  Cantigny,  and  after  nine  weeks  of  duty 
with  the  First  Division,  there  came  an  order  for  me  to  report  at 
Staff  College  again.  Needless  to  say  this  order  was  about  as 
unwelcome  as  any  I  ever  received.  As  said  before  Colonel  Law- 
ton  was  not  at  all  well.  If  his  health  became  still  more  uncertain 
there  was  an  opportunity  for  me  if  still  on  the  ground;  I  felt  at 
home  in  the  Division,  and  had  begun  to  hope  that  I  might  find 
a  permanent  berth  there.  But  orders  are  orders,  and  off  to 
Langres,  via  Paris,  I  went. 

The  trip  from  Menil  to  Paris  was  made  by  auto.  In  the  car 
was  Mr.  Velay — a  French  banker  who  was  the  official  interpreter 
for  Trains  headquarters — Lieutenant  Flynn  the  Supply  Officer 
for  Trains,  the  driver  and  myself.  The  day  was  clear  and  spring- 
like, and  the  trip  started  most  enjoyably.  About  twenty  kilo- 
metres  out   of   Paris  we   came   upon   some   recovered   French 

89 


"blesses"  mending  road.  At  the  same  time  we  overtook  another 
vehicle  going  our  way,  and  just  then  too,  we  met  a  drove  of 
cows  with  a  vehicle  following  them  closely.  The  cows  scattered 
all  over  the  road ;  a  soldat  ran  out  in  front  of  our  car  to  head  back 
a  wandering  cow  which  was  trying  to  leave  the  road.  He  was 
brandishing  his  long-handled  shovel  when  he  slipped  and  fell 
just  as  he  reached  the  car,  the  swinging  shovel  going  through  the 
wind-shield,  and  the  soldat  going  under  the  car.  We  were  moving 
so  slowly  that  the  car  could  be  stopped  almost  immediately,  but 
one  of  the  front  wheels  went  over  one  of  his  legs,  and  for  a  few 
moments  his  cries  made ,  us  think  that  we  had  mutilated  his 
entire  family.  Roadside  examination  disclosed  that  there  were 
no  broken  bones,  and  but  little  broken  skin,  and  inquiry  brought 
out  the  fact  that  he  was  billeted  about  a  kilometre  down  the 
road  in  the  direction  we  were  going.  So  we  loaded  him  in  the 
car  and  went  on.  On  reaching  the  village  where  he  was  billeted 
we  found  his  Captain — who  soundly  berated  him  as  soon  as  he 
learned  that  the  man  was  not  seriously  hurt — berated  him  for 
getting  in  our  way,  and  for  breaking  our  windshield.  Then, 
because  the  soldat  was  a  minute  fraction  of  our  allies,  and  because 
we  wished  to  preserve  the  entente  cordiale,  I  gave  the  soldier 
ten  francs,  telling  him  to  buy  wine  for  himself  and  his  friends. 
Immediately  the  car  was  surrounded  by  soldiers  congratulating 
the  man  who  had  been  hurt,  and  in  their  hearts  wishing,  I 
think,  that  we  would  run  over  them  also. 

The  second  accident  that  day  was  of  a  more  serious  nature. 
We  were  passing  through  St.  Denis,  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Paris. 
The  street  was  narrow,  and  as  there  was  considerable  traffic  we 
were  forced  to  move  slowly.  A  large  man  in  a  blue  semi-uniform 
started  to  cross  the  street  in  front  of  us,  evidently  changed  his 
mind  and  stepped  back  on  the  curbing.  As  he  did  so  my  driver 
stepped  on  the  gas  to  increase  his  speed  and  close  up  the  gap 
between  us  and  the  car  next  in  front  of  us.  Without  warning, 
and  without  looking  in  our  direction,  this  man  stepped  off  the 
curb  again,  and  his  next  step  put  him  directly  in  front  of  the 
car.  The  driver  threw  the  wheel  over  as  far  as  possible,  but  the 
car  struck  the  man  in  such  a  way  that  he  fell  beneath  the  car, 

90 


and  the  front  wheel  passed  over  his  abdomen.  We  stopped  at 
once,  and  the  crowd  that  collected  almost  like  magic,  carried 
him  into  a  nearby  estaminet.  It  seemed  he  was  a  well-known 
character,  and  was  the  clerk  of  the  Mairie  of  St.  Denis.  Our 
French  banker  sent  for  an  ambulance,  and  the  banker  and 
Lieutenant  Flynn  accompanied  the  man  to  the  hospital.  The 
driver  and  I,  as  hostages,  remained  with  the  gen'd'arme  who  had 
appeared  on  the  scene.  He  did  not  put  us  in  arrest,  but  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  did  not  intend  to  let  us  get  out  of  his  sight. 
In  accordance  with  A.  E.  F.  regulations  I  made  myself  busy  get- 
ting the  names  and  addresses  of  those  who  had  witnessed  the 
accident.  The  keeper  of  the  estaminet  was  a  youngish  woman 
who  spoke  a  little  English,  and  after  I  had  bought  a  drink  for 
the  driver — who  needed  it  badly  as  he  was  so  horrified  by  the 
accident  that  he  had  burst  into  tears— and  for  the  gen'd'arme 
as  a  matter  of  polic}^,  she  became  quite  friendly,  saying,  "The 
old  fool,"  meaning  the  injured  man,  "is  always  getting  himself 
into  trouble."  More  than  this,  she  went  out  and  brought  in. 
others  who  had  seen  the  accident,  and  who  seemed  anxious  to 
have  me  take  their  names  so  that  they  might  be  called  to  testify 
that  it  was  not  our  fault.  Then  Lieutenant  Flynn  and  banker 
Velay  returned,  and  the  gen'd'arme  politely  informed  us  that 
we  must  go  before  the  Commissionaire  de  Police.  That  looked 
a  little  more  serious.  The  gen'd'arme  rode  up  with  us  too.  At 
the  City  Hall  we  had  a  short  wait  and  then  were  ushered  into 
the  Presence;  our  story  was  told.  It  had  to  be  told  slowly  because 
it  was  all  taken  down  in  longhand,  and  longhand  that  was  con- 
verted into  French  by  banker  Velay.  When  it  was  all  tran- 
scribed we  were  instructed  to  sign.  For  fear  there  might  be 
something  in  that  French  document  that  we  had  not  said,  I  re- 
quired banker  Velay  to  read  it  to  us,  re-changing  into  United 
States  for  our  comprehension;  but  they  had  it  down  all  right. 
Then  the  Commissionaire  rendered  his  decision,  which  was  that 
"The  injured  man  came  to  his  injury,  and  subsequent  demise" — 
for  the  Commissionaire  had  heard  from  the  hospital — "by  virtue 
of  his  own  fault,  and  our  friends  and  allies,  the  American  offi- 
cers"— then   naming  each  one   of  us  by   name — "are  entirely 

91 


blameless  in  the  matter."    Then  we  shook  hands  all  round,  and 
beat  it. 

Over  night  in  Paris  and  then  on  again  to  Langres.  Of  course, 
they  didn't  know  I  was  coming,  and  I  didn't  know  whether  the 
" three  guardsmen"  were  still  there  or  not,  but  I  went  at  once  to 
the  old  billet.  Stacy  was  in,  grinding  away  on  some  staff  problem. 
He  let  out  a  whoop  which  brought  grandmere  on  the  run  to  see 
what  had  befallen  her  "petite  soldat."  When  she  saw  me  she 
must  have  supposed  she  was  seeing  my  ghost,  for  she  backed 
away,  crossed  herself,  and  began  to  say  her  prayers,  but  as  I 
grinned  cheerfully  at  her  she  changed  her  mind,  and  the  next 
minute  she  had  her  arm  about  my  neck,  and  at  the  same  time 
was  apologizing  for  the  liberty  she  was  taking  with  "le  Colonel." 

That  night  there  was  a  great  reunion  in  that  billet;  both  sides 
had  stories  to  tell.  At  supper  we  ran  across  a  number  of  men  I 
had  known  previously  in  the  College,  many  of  whom  came  up 
to  our  rooms  during  the  evening  to  get  some  first-hand  in- 
formation from  the  front.  The  next  morning  I  reported  to 
General  Bjornsted — for  he  had  been  promoted.  About  the  first 
thing  he  said  was,  "What  are  the  actual  duties  of  a  Trains  Com- 
mander; where  does  he  fit  in;  is  he  a  member  of  the  staff  of  the 
Division  Commander,  or  not?"  I  rattled  off  what  I  thought  the 
duties  were,  and  made  the  status  pretty  complicated  and  chaotic 
I  suspect,  for  he  finally  said,  "Take  two  or  three  days;  reduce 
all  that  to  writing  and  let  me  have  it."  If  he  had  said,  "Reduce 
that  to  writing  in  an  hour"  it  might  have  hurried  me  a  little, 
but  when  he  talked  about  two  or  three  days  I  could  see  a  pleasant 
little  vacation  ahead  of  me. 

On  reporting  the  second  time  with  the  desired  tabulation,  he 
said,  "I'll  send  an  orderly  to  you  when  I  am  ready;  I  have  a  job 
for  you  I  think."  Knowing  how  busy  he  was  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  might  count  on  several  days  more,  but  the  second  day  the 
orderly  came  and  said  the  General  wanted  to  see  me.  His  de- 
cision was  this:  "I  have  just  been  made  chief-of-staff  to  3rd 
Corps  Headquarters;  the  commanding  general  has  not  yet  been 
named;  the  Corps  consists  at  present  of  two  divisions  from  the 
regular  army;  I  want  you  to  go  to  that  Corps  training  area,  take 

92 


one  division  at  a  time,  inspect  all  transport  and  instruct  transport 
officers  as  you  inspect.  Get  in  touch  with  the  Commander  of 
Trains  and  Military  Police  in  each  division,  and  teach  him  what 
you  have  indicated  here  as  the  duties  of  a  Trains  Commander. 
The  3rd  Division  is  over;  the  5th  is  over  or  on  the  way.  You 
will  get  your  orders  tonight." 

There  was  another  matter  that  made  this  visit  to  Langres  a 
pleasant  one.  It  was  nine  weeks  after  landing  in  France  before 
I  received  any  mail.  While  with  the  First  Division  two  or  three 
letters  had  come,  but  as  my  wife  and  I  had  agreed  to  let  our 
letters  to  each  other  carry  serial  numbers,  and  since  the  two 
which  had  been  received  from  her  had  been  numbers  five  and 
eleven,  I  was  firmly  convinced  that  somewhere  in  France  there 
was  a  quantity  of  mail  for  me.  Inquiry  at  the  college  postoffice — 
"A.  P.  0.  714" — found  a  large  bundle,  forty-two  letters,  to  be 
exact.  They  lasted  me  all  the  time  I  was  at  Langres,  and  part 
of  the  time  while  at  Mussy-sur-Seine,  the  headquarters  of  3rd 
Corps. 

Acting  as  Inspector-Instructor  at  Corps  was  pleasant  work  in 
the  main.  The  Third  Division  was  round  about  Chatillon.  When 
I  reached  this  division  it  had  been  across  about  three  weeks. 
General  Dickman,  commanding  the  division,  had  had  a  large 
experience  with  front  line  transport,  and  after  finding  my  mission 
under  my  orders  and  ascertaining  what  I  intended  to  do,  gave 
me  his  enthusiastic  support  and  encouragement  to  go  ahead. 
The  work  with  this  division  took  me  three  weeks  and  if  they  had 
had  a  complete  Supply  train,  and  an  Ammunition  train  at  all 
it  would  have  taken  longer.  The  absence  of  an  Ammunition 
train  was  a  source  of  great  disgust  to  General  Dickman,  and  if 
he  could  have  foreseen  what  was  about  to  happen  to  his  Division, 
it  would  have  been  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  him. 

From  here  the  work  called  me  to  the  Bar-sur-Aube  region  and 
the  Fifth  Division,  General  McMahon  commanding.  This 
division  had  been  in  its  area  but  five  days  when  I  went  to  them, 
and  had  practically  none  of  its  transport.  After  spending  the 
day  with  Colonel  Morrow,  the  Commander  of  Trains,  returning 
to  Mussy  in  the  evening,  it  was  learned  at  Corps  headquarters 

93 


that  the  Hun  drive  on  Chateau-Thierry  had  become  so  ominous 
that  the  Third  Division  had  been  ordered  to  the  front — only 
partially  equipped  as  it  was — and  that  the  Fifth  was  to  go  forward 
also,  to  act  as  guard  over  some  bridges  and  railroads.  The  ex- 
igencies of  the  hour  had  dissolved  the  3rd  Corps. 

Many  of  the  officers  at  Corps  headquarters,  seeing  the  period 
of  inactivity  which  was  bound  to  ensue,  and  wishing  to  be  in  the 
field  in  some  active  capacity,  asked  General  Bjornsted  for  orders 
sending  them  elsewhere.  When  I  proffered  my  request  the 
General  said,  "Where  do  you  want  to  be  sent?"  Having  been 
told  by  him  previously  that  the  Thirty-third  Division  was  over, 
or  soon  to  come,  and  having  seen  in  the  scheme  of  divisions  as 
prepared  by  G.  H.  Q.  that  the  Thirty-third  was  listed  "combat 
troops,  shock  division,"  I  knew  that  the  Thirty-third  was  not 
going  to  be  used  as  replacement  troops,  as  was  the  Forty-first, 
so  requested  an  order  sending  me  to  the  Thirty-third  Division. 
Turning  to  his  clerk  he  dictated  the  order,  and  when  it  was 
written  out  he  signed  it  in  a  bold  hand  "John  J.  Pershing." 
That  is  the  only  written  order  I  ever  received  direct  from  General 
Pershing.  Folding  and  handing  me  the  order,  he  said,  "Now 
don't  ask  me  where  that  division  is,  for  I  don't  know."  A  little 
later  in  our  conversation  he  suggested  that  I  run  over  to  Tours 
to  find  out.  Tours  was  probably  two  hundred  kilometres  west  of 
Mussy,  and  having  been  there  several  times  before,  I  had  the 
impression  that  it  was  a  poor  town  in  which  to  hunt  for  in- 
formation. The  car  that  had  been  assigned  for  my  use  at  Corps 
headquarters  had  not  been  turned  in.  Chaumont,  or  G.  H.  Q. 
was  only  fifty-five  kilometres  to  the  east  of  Mussy,  and  I  had 
never  been  in  Chaumont,  and  certainly  G.  H.  Q.  was  the  fountain- 
head  for  information.  So  bright  and  early  the  next  morning  my 
driver  and  I  started  for  Chaumont  to  hunt  for  the  Thirty-third. 

But  it  began  to  look  as  if  I  had  made  a  bad  choice,  for  on 
applying  at  one  office  for  the  desired  information  I  would  meet 
with  "No,  we  do  not  know  where  the  Thirty-third  is,  but  prob- 
ably Captain  So-and-So  can  tell  you."  And  Captain  So-and-So 
would  say,  "I  don't  know,  but  likely  Major  X.  Y.  Z.  can  inform 
you."    And  so  it  went,  always  being  referred  to  someone  else,  or 

94 


to  some  other  office.  I  was  even  sent  to  the  French  and  British 
liaison  officers,  and  they  could  not  tell  me.  At  last  "G-4,"  G.  H. 
Q.  said,  "I  think  Colonel  Barnes  can  help  you  out."  So  Colonel 
Barnes  was  found.  He  smiled,  walked  up  to  a  map  on  the  wall, 
put  the  ball  of  his  thumb  flat  on  one  part  of  that  map  and  said, 
"The  Thirty-third  is  up  there,"  I  scanned  that  map  closely  and 
discovered  that  his  thumb  had  been  covering  considerable  ter- 
ritory, and  a  number  of  towns.  He  saw  the  question  I  was  about 
to  ask,  smiled  again,  and  said,  "I  don't  know  the  point  for  divi- 
sion headquarters,  but  they  are  up  there  somewhere;  they  are 
just  over."  The  map  space  covered  by  the  thumb  had  showed 
Oisement  on  a  railroad  in  that  region,  so  he  suggested  that  I  go 
to  that  place  as  a  point  for  closer  search.  But  his  thumb  had  also 
covered  Abbeville,  and  privately  I  decided  to  go  to  that  town. 
I  had  heard  Abbeville  mentioned  frequently  while  I  was  with 
the  Canadians. 

The  trip  to  Abbeville  took  me  through  Paris  again,  of  course. 
In  traveling  any  distance  in  France,  or  one  might  say  that  in 
traveling  by  rail  in  France,  regardless  of  distance,  one  goes  to 
Paris  and  from  there  to  the  desired  point.  France  does  not  believe 
in  connecting  north  and  south,  or  east  and  west  points  in  any 
other  way  than  via  Paris.  In  Paris  I  ran  across  several  officers 
from  Staff  College,  who — having  now  finished  the  course  there — 
were  being  sent  to  one  or  another  division  for  duty;  three  of  them 
were  heading  toward  Abbeville  like  myself.  This  made  a  pleasant 
little  travel  party,  for  four  men  of  any  experience  can  put  up  a 
bold,  and  successful  front  in  holding  a  train  compartment 
originally  designed  for  eight  people.  In  fact  two,  if  flanked  by 
the  baggage  of  all  four,  can  do  so  successfully  while  the  other 
two  forage  for  rations. 

The  train  reached  Abbeville  about  nine  thirty,  p.  m.  Of 
course  there  was  the  usual  prohibition  against  lights  of  any 
kind,  but  in  the  late  twilight  we  could  see,  and  run  against,  and 
fall  over  the  results  of  the  many  Hun  bombing  expeditions. 
Apparently  we  were  put  to  it  very  hardly  in  the  matter  of  a  place 
to  sleep,  for  the  populace  of  Abbeville  migrated,  to  a  man,  woman 
and  child,  out  into  the  country  at  sundown,  and  stayed  there 

95 


until  sunrise  the  next  morning.  There  wasn't  a  hotel  open; 
there  wasn't  a  house  where  we  could  raise  anyone.  Finally  an 
English  M.  P. — military  police,  not  member  of  Parliament — 
suggested  that  our  one  best  bet  was  the  English  Officers  Club. 
He  wasn't  very  sanguine  that  we  could  get  in,  but  it  offered  a 
chance.  So  we  tried  the  Club;  it  was  full,  but  the  clerk  told  us 
they  had  an  annex  where  officers  could  sleep,  and  an  orderly 
accompanied  us  the  six  blocks  to  this  place.  It  was  nothing  but 
an  enormous  store  room  that  had  escaped  the  bombing,  a  room 
probably  used  originally  as  a  warehouse  for  goods  of  some  sort. 
It  was  large  enough  to  allow  four  rows  of  cots,  with  probably 
thirty,  or  thirty-five  cots  to  the  row.  There  was  no  other  furniture 
of  any  sort.  At  one  end  of  this  room  there  had  been  rigged  up  a 
water  pipe  with  numerous  faucets,  and  one  washed  one's  face 
and  hands  from  the  running  stream.  The  orderly  tagged  us  for 
cots,  77,  78,  79  and  80,  collected  two  francs  from  each  one,  and 
wished  us  "pleasant  dreams,"  adding  that  the  town  was  bombed 
the  night  before,  so  that  there  was  a  chance  for  a  quiet  night 
tonight.  I  don't  know  about  the  other  fellows,  but  do  know  that 
I  slept.  An  all  day  ride  on  the  train,  plenty  of  exercise  up  and 
down  the  streets  of  Abbeville  carrying  a  heavy  grip  into  which  I 
had  crowded  all  my  precious,  and  most  of  my  necessary  belong- 
ings, made  me  welcome  that  cot  even  if  Jerry  was  sure  to  pay 
us  a  call. 

Breakfast  was  served  at  the  Officers  Club,  the  waitresses  being 
W.  A.  A.  C.  S.  After  breakfast  we  found  an  American  Provost 
Marshal  who  knew  where  the  various  divisions  were  located, 
and  who  put  me  in  telephone  communication  with  Colonel 
Naylor,  Chief-of-Staff  of  the  Thirty-third.  After  saying  "Hello" 
to  Naylor,  I  nearly  gave  him  a  fatal  shock  by  saying,  "Send  a 
car  in  after  me,  will  you?"  It  seemed  that  the  Division  was  so 
recently  over  that  there  were  but  two  cars  with  the  Division, 
one  of  them  assigned  to  General  Bell  of  course,  and  being  as- 
signed to  him  could  be  used  for  no  lesser  purpose  than  his  use. 
Neither  General  Wolfe  nor  General  Hill  had  a  car  as  yet,  and  the 
only  other  one  in  the  Division  was  one  that  the  Division  quarter- 
master had  managed  to  get  hold  of  in  some  way.    But  Naylor 

96 


finally  said,  "Sit  tight,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do."  That  evening 
the  Q.  M.'s  car  came  and  took  me  to  Huppy,  Division  head- 
quarters. 

During  this  day,  and  while  wandering  the  streets  of  Abbeville, 
I  ran  across  General  Henry  R.  Hill.  He  seemed  glad  to  see  me, 
and  among  other  things  said  to  me  that  he  felt  sure  there  was  a 
movement  on  foot  to  get  him  out  of  the  service.  He  also  said 
that  I  was  in  command  of  the  130th  Infantry  Regiment,  that  the 
regiment  was  completely  demoralized,  and  that  he  welcomed 
my  assignment  to  the  command  as  he  felt  I  could  straighten  out 
this  outfit,  and  thus  strengthen  his  position  in  the  Division. 
The  130th  Infantry  was  in  his  Brigade,  and  had  had  three  or  four 
different  regimental  commanders  since  its  mobilization  at  Camp 
Logan.  Three  or  four  different  commanders  in  a  six-months 
training  period  is  enough  to  demoralize  almost  any  outfit.  As  I 
had  not  been  active  in  the  infantry  branch  of  the  service  since 
October  of  the  preceding  year,  and  as  training  and  leading  an 
infantry  outfit  had  been  completely  revolutionized  in  that  time, 
the  news  that  I  was  in  command  of  an  infantry  regiment  did  not 
make  me  feel  particularly  cheerful. 

Headquarters  3rd  Corps, 
A.  E.  F. 
June  2,  1918. 

Rev.  George  A.  Buttrick, 
Quincy,  Illinois. 

My  dear  Mr.  Buttrick: 

I  have  just  read  a  copy  of  the  Quincy  Herald  containing  your 
sermon  on  the  "Freedom  of  a  true  Jerusalem."  May  I  venture 
the  hope  that  it  appealed  to  the  people  at  home  as  much  as  it 
does  to  me.  I  do  not  quite  know  why  I  am  writing  to  you  in  this 
strain;  as  it  comes  to  me  the  only  reason,  or  excuse  is  that  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  larger  part  of  the  education  necessary  for 
the  people  of  the  United  States,  the  education  as  to  the  meaning 
of  this  war,  and  the  reason  for  this  war,  and  the  aims  of  this  war — 
this  necessary  education  must  come  largely  from  the  pulpit. 

97 


From  the  pulpit  because  it  is  to  the  pulpit  we  look  for  inter- 
pretation of  Divine  plans  and  methods.  This,  coming  from  one 
generally  considered  at  least,  to  be  rather  materialistic  in  belief, 
may  seem  unusual  or  even  absurd.  But  this  war  is  an  education 
in  itself;  it  is  an  interpretation,  an  opener  of  blind  eyes. 

It  is  impossible  to  contemplate  the  heroic  sacrifice  of  life,  of 
home,  of  family,  of  everything  one  holds  dear,  and  believe  that 
such  sacrifice  is  for  a  sordid  purpose,  or  that  it  can  arise  from  any 
"earthy"  motive.  I  have  yet  to  see  a  young  man  in  the  vigor  of 
health  and  youth  who  wanted  to  die,  but  when  one  sees  thousands, 
and  knows  of  hundreds  of  thousands  who,  in  that  youthful  vigor, 
go  forth,  look  Death  in  the  face,  meet  him  and  conquer,  or  are 
conquered  by  him,  and  all  this  without  a  tremor,  without  hesi- 
tation or  a  backward  glance,  I  am  convinced  that  there  is  some- 
thing more  than  love  of  adventure,  more  than  patriotism  as  we 
ordinarily  understand  it,  more  than  hatred  of  a  foe,  more  than  a 
man's  desire  to  pit  himself  against  an  adversary,  in  the  heart  of 
that  young  man.  There  is  something  there  that  does  not  appear 
on  the  surface,  some  motive,  or  thought,  or  belief  which  is 
stronger  than  love  of  life.  It  is  not  a  desire  to  acquire;  it  is  not 
fear  of  higher  authority;  these  men  are  not  being  driven  to  be 
brave;  these  men,  French,  English,  Irish,  Canadians,  Australians 
and  all,  do  not  feel  driven,  nor  do  they  have  to  be  driven.  More 
than  this,  there  is  no  political  union  of  these  nations  binding 
their  sons  together  in  this  death  pact.  Nor  do  I  believe  that  any, 
or  all  of  these  considerations  could  bind  these  men  from  the  four 
corners  of  the  earth  so  firmly  together  as  they  are  bound  today, 
nor  put  the  determination  in  their  hearts,  the  strength  in  their 
hands,  and  the  look  in  their  eyes  that  they  now  have.  For  there 
is  a  look  in  their  eyes  that  the  ordinary  bustling  business  world 
knows  not.  They  seem  to  have  seen  the  future;  to  have  gazed 
into  the  kaleidoscope  of  time  upon  the  picture  of  what  German 
rule  means,  what  a  free  and  wholesome  world  means,  and  what 
God's  purpose  is  in  this  war,  and  they  pass  out  as  men  who  have 
seen  a  vision  and  are  amazed  at  the  infinity  thereof. 

The  Crusades  came.  To  rid  the  Holy  Land  of  the  infidel  was, 
perhaps  a  worthy  object.  It  is  true  the  infidel  was  merely  one  who 


believed  in  God  in  a  manner  different  from  the  crusader.  Lives 
were  spent,  fortunes  were  spent,  deeds  of  valor  were  done,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  the  world  was  the  better  for  the  effort  made. 
The  crusader  was  convinced  of  the  righteousness  of  his  cause, 
and  at  the  same  time,  he  discovered  that  his  opponent  was  his 
brother;  the  infidel  was  confirmed  in  his  belief  in  the  power  of 
his  religion,  and  was  introduced  to  a  belief  as  strong  as  his  own. 
Those  battles  were  for  ideals  and  could  not  be  without  good 
results.  The  struggle  today  is  infinitely  more  of  a  true  crusade 
than  that  of  the  Christian  and  Saracen.  This  is  not  said  as 
voicing  merely  my  opinion,  for  it  must  be  the  opinion  of  these 
thousands  and  thousands  of  men  of  the  allied  armies  who  are 
battling  for  God  and  humanity.  Ask  one  man  why  he  is  fighting, 
and  the  answer  is  "To  make  the  world  a  safe  place  to  live  in." 
Another  will  say,  "To  lick  the  Kaiser  and  stop  him  from  murder- 
ing women  and  children."  Another,  "I  got  tired  of  hearing  about 
'Gott  mit  uns'  when  I  knew  God  wasn't  that  kind  of  a  God." 
These  are  answers  taken  at  random  from  those  received  to  the 
above  question,  and  they  all  show  the  inherent  feeling  that  there 
is  wrong  to  be  righted — a  feeling  which  is  the  foundation  for  a 
true  crusade. 

This  brings  up  another  thought  which  I  hold  firmly,  but  which 
has  never  gained  general  approval  when  it  has  been  broached; 
I  admit  that  war  is  an  awful  thing,  but  in  many  ways  war  is  a 
good  thing.  War  is  suffering,  horror,  want,  sacrifice.  Nothing 
permanently  good  comes  save  through  suffering — suffering  on 
the  part  of  someone.  We  are  born  through  suffering,  we  die 
through  suffering.  Suffering  is  a  sacrifice,  the  one  we  offer  in- 
stead of  the  slain  lamb.  "The  broken  and  contrite  heart  is  not 
despised,"  and  just  as  the  Great  Example  became  perfect  through 
suffering,  so  will  this  world  ultimately  find  its  universal  peace  by 
treading  the  same  path.  War  clarifies  the  vision,  purifies  the 
life,  gives  us  ideas  of  right  values,  takes  our  minds  from  the 
little  things,  and  from  the  gross  and  material,  and  shows  us  our 
individual  littleness  in  comparison  with  those  things  which  make 
for  the  betterment  of  the  world.  In  a  sense  we  come  to  place  too 
high  a  value  on  human  life.  The  French  wife  who  exclaimed  over 

99 


the  dead  body  of  her  husband,  "I  was  his  wife,  but  France  was 
his  mother;  I  have  given  him  back  to  his  mother,"  voiced  in  a 
measure  the  keynote  of  the  giving  of  human  lives  in  a  just  cause. 
Life  came  from  Infinity;  in  the  development  of  those  plans  which 
no  human  intelligence  can  understand,  Infinity  requires  the 
absorption  of  human  life  into  Itself,  and  while  to  our  finite  eyes 
and  minds  this  apparent  wholesale  absorption  seems  a  horrible 
and  hellish  thing,  we  must  remember  that  it  is  only  the  tithe  we 
give,  and  that  in  the  giving  the  world  is  improved,  the  universe 
becomes  nearer  perfect,  and  the  great  plan  for  the  "free  Jeru- 
salem" is  furthered  upon  earth.  This  is  essentially  a  religious 
war;  you  feel  it  everywhere;  these  allied  armies  are  religious 
armies  since  the  men  in  them  are  here  for  the  purpose  of  making 
the  world  better.  It  is  a  religious  army  even  when  it  is  a  profane 
army,  for  the  very  profanity  one  hears  is  a  prayer  since  it  is  the 
outburst  of  the  pent  up  emotions  caused  by  the  earnestness  of 
the  motive  underlying  the  fighting. 

I  hope  I  have  not  bored  you,  but  after  reading  your  published 
sermon  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  that  the  men  involved  in  helping 
to  make,  and  in  hoping  to  make  a  "free  Jerusalem,"  are  with 
their  hands,  and  in  their  hearts  engaged  in  a  crusade  which  will 
make  it  possible  to  say,  "God's  in  his  heaven;  all's  right  with 
the  world." 


100 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

On  reporting  to  General  Bell  he  remarked,  "You  are  in  com- 
mand of  the  130th;  the  regiment  is  in  the  devil  of  a  shape." 
Then  possibly  seeing  the  look  of  apprehension,  or  consternation 
on  my  face,  he  said,  "What  have  you  been  doing  in  your  six 
months  over  here?"  On  answering  that  I  had  been  with  the 
Canadians  for  front-line  transport,  and  most  recently  had  been 
putting  in  time  as  an  Inspector-Instructor  for  Division  transport, 
he  thought  a  moment  and  then  said,  "Well,  perhaps  I  will  have 
to  make  some  changes;  stay  here  at  headquarters  a  few  days, 
and  I  will  think  it  over."  Two  days  later  he  transferred  Colonel 
Clinnin  from  Trains  and  Military  Police  to  the  130th  infantry 
regiment,  and  transferred  me  to  the  Trains  and  Military  Police. 
It  suited  Colonel  Clinnin  who  had  had  no  front-line  transport 
work,  and  pleased  me,  for  ignorant  as  I  was  of  the  new  things 
connected  with  the  infantry  I  feared  that  I  might  not  make  good 
on  an  infantry  assignment,  and  knew  that  I  could  make  good 
with  the  Trains  and  Military  Police. 

Only  a  few  days  in  the  Huppy  area  and  then  a  hike  to  the  Eu 
area.  Eu  is  one  of  the  old  cities  of  France,  and  is  the  location 
of  one  of  the  estates  of  the  Orleans  family.  The  present  Duke 
and  Duchess  were  in  residence  here,  and  offered  of  their  hos- 
pitality to  General  Bell  while  he  was  at  Eu.  Here  my  work  as 
provost-marshal  began  in  earnest,  for  the  town  was  full  of  Bel- 
gian soldiers,  and  our  own  men  had  not  yet  settled  into  the 
harness.  Shortly  after  reaching  here  an  order  came  from  G.  H. 
Q.  sending  certain  officers  to  Australian  and  English  divisions 
then  in  line  in  this  vicinity,  for  the  purpose  of  putting  each 
American  officer  in  close  experience  with  the  particular  branch 
of  work  with  which  he  was  connected.  In  this  list  of  our  officers 
was  scheduled  the  Commander  of  Trains.  Feeling  that  in  the 
five  days  of  this  experience  I  would  see  but  little  not  seen  pre- 
viously, and  feeling  that  I  could  do  more  for  the  Division  by 
staying  with  the  Division,  I  put  it  up  to  General  Bell  who  said, 

101 


"You  certainly  don't  need  it,  but  it's  a  G.  H.  Q.,  order  and  you 
better  go."  My  assignment  took  me  to  the  Third  Australian 
Division,  General  Gelliband  commanding,  and  was — except 
for  my  sleeping  quarters — a  very  pleasant  outing.  The  Division 
was  in  line  at  Villers-Bretoneau,  and  every  one  was  living  in 
dug-outs.  The  Division  headquarters  dug-out  was  one  drifted 
into  a  hillside,  and  while  not  exceptionally  wet,  was  the  coldest 
I  ever  saw.  Even  in  June  I  could  not  get  enough  blankets  to 
keep  out  that  penetrating  chill. 

The  picture  is  a  huge,  ruined  chateau.  The  grounds  in  front 
are  spacious,  and  even  after  four  years  of  war,  with  this  bit  of 
the  world  changing  hands  from  allies  to  Germans  and  back 
again  four  times  in  the  four  years,  the  hand  of  the  landscape 
gardener  and  artist  can  still  be  seen.  The  trees  are  half,  or  quite 
destroyed;  the  earth  is  full  of  shell  holes;  the  graveled  drives 
and  walks  are  interrupted  by  these  huge  blotches  which  make 
the  country-side  appear  afflicted  with  a  gross  form  of  acne  of  the 
terrain.  It  is  also  evident  from  the  large  fishpond  in  the  rear  of 
the  chateau  that  the  owner  of  these  grounds  was  a  man  of 
substance,  but  the  rim  of  water  has  become  a  scallop  because  of 
still  other  shell  holes.  The  park  all  about  is  marked  with  mounds 
and  pits,  and  when  one  starts  to  go  anywhere  one  must  go  by 
indirection  in  order  to  escape  falling  into  these  unsightly  holes. 

Just  now  the  chateau  is  the  headquarters  of  an  Australian 
brigade,  and  is  being  used  as  such  first,  because  it  is  convenient, 
and  next,  because  the  Germans,  who  have  just  left  it,  are  con- 
vinced that  it  is  so  thoroughly  looted,  and  gutted,  and  porous, 
and  open  to  the  sky  as  well  as  to  observation,  that  no  sensible 
commander  will  do  anything  else  than  fight  shy  of  the  place. 
Astonishing  fellows,  these  Australians.  They  break  and  overlook 
all  the  rules  and  red  tape  of  hundreds  of  years  of  armyism,  and 
Field  Service  Regulations,  and  Military  Discipline.  Instead  of 
sticking  one  of  their  batteries  in  a  wood — as  is  highly  recom- 
mended in  the  books — or  instead  of  putting  it  behind  a  hill — 
another  procedure  often  followed — they  are  more  likely  to  stick 
those  guns  right  out  in  the  open  on  a  level  stretch  of  ground. 

102 


They  seem  to  lie  awake  nights  seeking  ways  and  means  for  break- 
ing precedents,  and  they  are  always  making  precedents  of  their 
own.  It  is  to  chuckle  when  one  remembers  the  many  cases,  and 
fits  of  horror  they  caused  among  the  English  Army  Red  Collars. 

Division  headquarters  of  this  Australian  outfit  were  about 
two  kilometres  distant  from  this  chateau.  At  noon  the  division 
commander  said,  "I  have  accepted  an  invitation  for  Colonel 
C." — my  American  confrere,  "for  yourself,  and  for  myself  to 
take  dinner  this  evening  with  General  W.  at  brigade  head- 
quarters." Of  course  I  said  "delighted."  Then  he  went  on 
"Some  of  our  fellows  have  heard  that  you  Americans  are  wonder- 
ful marksmen;  our  officers  have  done  some  good  shooting,  and  I 
understand  that  there  is  a  movement  on  foot  to  have  some 
target  practice  after  dinner."  This  caused  me  no  uneasiness  for 
Colonel  C. — was  known  nationally  as  a  crack  rifle  shot,  and  he 
was  far  above  the  average  at  pistol  or  revolver  shooting.  As 
to  my  own  ability  the  less  said  the  better. 

About  six  o'clock  General  G. — his  chief-of-staff,  and  aide, 
and  myself  walked  over  to  brigade  headquarters.  The  dinner 
was  good.  General  W. — who  was  a  merchant  prince  in  Australia 
in  civil  life,  had  a  good  cook,  and  there  was  no  evidence  of 
scarcity  of  rations,  or  lack  of  variety  of  food  and  drink.  Colonel 
C — had  not,  and  did  not  appear.  The  dinner  went  on;  the 
degree  of  hospitality  and  friendliness  could  not  have  been  ex- 
ceeded. We  toasted  the  King;  we  toasted  the  President;  we 
toasted  La  Belle  France;  we  toasted  all  the  allied  dignitaries 
we  could  remember,  and  then  I  think  we  began  to  drink  to  the 
good  health  of  New  York,  Melbourne,  Sidney,  Buffalo,  Kokomo 
and  Kalamazoo.  Finally  some  one  suggested  that  the  light  was 
just  right  for  pistol  practice,  so  we  adjourned  to  the  sunken  garden 
in  the  grounds.  It  then  appeared  that  America,  as  represented 
in  the  person  of  one  lone  Colonel  of  Infantry,  was  to  compete 
with  five  husky  and  handsome  Australian  officers  who  had  been 
combed  from  the  Australian  Corps,  and  who  were  to  shoot  for 
the  glory  and  honor  of  the  southern  hemisphere.  The  match 
looked  onesided  so  General  G. — the  Division  Commander, 
offered  to  shoot  for  America  in  the  place  of  the  absent  Colonel  C. 

103 


The  targets  were  set  up,  set  up  against  one  side  of  the  sunken, 
garden,  six  empty  Bass'  ale  bottles  sitting  in  a  row,  six  inches 
between  bottles,  and  the  firing  line  was  thirty  paces  distant. 
Each  contestant  had  six  shots,  and  the  longer  I  looked  and 
thought  about  those  bottles  standing  in  a  row,  the  more  bottles 
I  could  see.  There  were  a  dozen,  a  dozen  and  a  half,  a  whole 
array  of  bottles;  some  still  wearing  their  labels,  some  clothed 
only  in  their  naked  and  vitreous  brownness. 

As  ranking  officer  present  and  contesting,  and  shooting  as  he 
was  for  the  American  team,  General  G. — was  first  on  the  mark. 
The  six  shots  from  his  Webley  ruined  one  bottle.  When  this  was 
replaced  a  young  Australian  stepped  up  and  demolished  three 
bottles  with  his  six  shots. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  this  was  poor  shooting  for  there  were 
dozens  of  bottles  there,  and  they  were  moving,  gliding,  rotating, 
doing  the  one  step,  the  two  step,  the  tango  and  the  hesitation. 
But  my  time  had  come.  I  had  declared  modestly,  that  I  was  no 
pistol  shot;  that  I  was  shooting  only  from  a  spirit  of  good- 
fellowship,  and  because  of  my  love  for  the  American  eagle;  that 
it  was  a  crime  to  press  upon  my  wavering  hand  and  uncertain 
eye  a  responsibility  so  great.  You  see,  I  was  entering  all  my 
alibis  before  shooting. 

Still,  I  felt  confident  of  the  outcome  for  my  observation  during 
those  few  minutes  had  disclosed  that  those  moving  bottles 
moved  in  a  regular  and  orderly  way;  there  were  no  uncertain, 
or  unexpected  movements  in  that  case  of  bottles;  they  could 
be  depended  upon.  With  no  feeling  of  apprehension  or  doubt 
I  took  my  stand,  aimed  carefully,  waited  a  moment,  and  fired. 
There  wTas  the  sound  of  broken  and  tinkling  glass.  Again  I  fired, 
and  again  the  same  sound  rejoiced  my  ear,  but  there  seemed  no 
lessening  of  the  number  of  bottles  treading  their  stately  minuet. 

The  third  shot  I  directed  at  a  bottle  which  appeared  to  have 
withdrawn  itself  a  little  from  the  festive  aggregation;  it  had  a 
particularly  bright  and  clean  label,  and  looked  larger  and  more 
important  than  its  fellows;  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  trying 
to  sneak  away  from  my  deadly  fire.    To  my  surprise  it  survived 

104 


the  attack;  the  shot  was  wasted.  This  must  not  be;  my  mission 
was  to  make  the  American  eagle  give  raucous  screams  of  triumph 
and  joy,  rather  than  to  cause  him  to  shed  salty  tears  of  dis- 
appointment and  woe.  I  called  upon  my  reserve  powers,  and  my 
cunning.  Perhaps  Australia  had  not  done  her  best;  some  other 
entrant  might  break  more  than  three  of  those  six  bottles,  and 
as  yet  I  had  not  even  tied  my  first  opponent.  My  decision  was 
made;  forget  the  isolated  and  important  looking  bottle;  perhaps 
it  was  devoted  to  some  other  fate  any  way — some  more  ignoble 
end — and  turn  my  attention  to  the  common  herd. 

Again  I  aimed,  waited,  and  fired.  Once  more  the  tinkling  glass 
could  be  heard;  my  first  opponent's  record  was  tied; now  I  must 
continue,  must  beat  him,  must  do  so  excellently  that  no  late 
shooter  could  beat  me.  I  then  realized  that  my  original  strategy 
was  correct,  and  that  my  tactics  were  unbeatable.  Again  I 
fired,  and  again  a  bottle  bit  the  dust.  But  this  last  shot  puzzled 
me,  and  caused  me  annoyance  as  well,  for  where,  a  moment  before 
there  had  been  a  collection  of  bottles,  all  apparently  on  good 
terms  with  each  other,  all  enjoying  a  considerable  intimacy  of 
friendship  and  action,  now  there  were  two  little  groups,  one 
wearing  bright,  clean  labels,  while  the  other  group  was  draped 
in  sombre  brown  and  instead  of  revolving  and  saluting  each  other 
in  dignified  and  regular  fashion  these  groups  seemed  insanely 
bent  on  standing  in  their  respective  places  and  dancing  up  and 
down;  I  could  not  decide  which  group  to  attack. 

Remembering  however  that  the  group  clothed  in  gay  attire 
must  be  the  relatives  and  associates  of  the  bottle  I  had  pre- 
viously fired  upon,  but  which  was  unquestionably  set  aside  for 
a  fate  other  than  my  bullet,  I  determined  to  slay  one  of  those 
little  brown  jumping-jacks.  Which  one  was  of  no  moment  to  me; 
I  had  neither  friendship  nor  animosity,  but  I  had  one  remaining 
shot;  I  must  have  one  more  bottle. 

Taking  careful  aim  I  waited,  but  conditions  were  not  right. 
I  lowered  the  gun  and  watched  that  little  group.  Again  I  aimed, 
waited,  and  then  fired;  to  my  immense  relief  again  we  heard  the 
sound  of  broken  glass. 

105 


The  Australian  makes  and  breaks  precedents,  but  by  sticking 
to  what  I  had  been  taught  I  was  enabled  to  capture  the  prize 
which  had  been  offered,  for  with  every  shot,  except  the  one  that 
had  been  wasted  on  that  bottle — set  aside  perhaps  by  its  own 
pride  in  drawing  away  from  its  fellows,  or  preserved  from  my 
accuracy  by  a  higher  and  postponed  fate — I  had  never  fired  until 
those  revolving  bottles  had  come  in  echelon,  and  then  I  en- 
filaded the  mass. 


In  late  June  the  Thirty-third  moved  up  to  Molliens-au-Bois 
sector  to  go  into  the  line  as  a  part  of  4th  British  Army.  Up  to 
this  time  I  had  not  seen  Donald;  a  part  of  the  129th  Infantry 
had  been  quarantined  at  Brest,  with  scarlet  fever,  but  just  before 
the  Division  left  Eu  the  quarantine  was  lifted,  and  this  battalion 
was  to  come  on  at  once.  As  soon  as  we  were  well  established  at 
Molliens,  and  as  soon  as  the  129th  Infantry  had  reached  its 
billeting  area,  I  took  advantage  of  opportunity  one  afternoon  to 
drive  over  to  their  regimental  headquarters  hoping  to  see  Don. 
Almost  at  once  I  ran  into  a  corporal  from  Quincy,  and  in  con- 
versation with  him  learned  that  Don  had  been  taken  sick  on  the 
march  across  country  from  Eu,  and  had  been  left  behind  on  the 
road.  Finding  the  captain  of  the  Headquarters  company — 
Don's  organization — I  asked  for  particulars.  In  an  extremely 
egotistic  and  unfeeling  way  Captain  White  replied,  "Oh  yes, 
he  came  down  with  scarlet  fever,  and  I  couldn't  be  bothered 
with  him,  so  left  him  behind."  Further  inquiry  developed  the 
fact  that  the  boy  was  not  turned  over  to  any  hospital  or  aid 
station,  but  that  he  was  left  in  the  loft  of  a  French  barn;  that  no 
one  had  been  left  with  him;  that  Captain  White  had  made  no 
effort  to  discover  what  had  become  of  him,  and  that  eleven  days 
had  elapsed,  and  nothing  had  been  heard  of  his  whereabouts  or 
his  condition.  At  once  I  began  to  make  inquiry  in  every  possible 
direction,  and  spent  the  next  day,  in  company  with  Captain 
Algeo  who  commanded  one  of  my  military  police  companies, 
going  from  place  to  place  along  the  line  of  the  recent  march  of 
the  129th  Infantry,  making  inquiries.  Every  British  hospital 
in  that  part  of  France,  even  those  at  Calais,  Boulogne  and  La 

106 


Treport  were  telephoned,  and  no  news  secured.  About  ten  o'clock 
that  night  the  operator  at  our  Division  headquarters  called  me 
to  the  phone,  and  the  American  unit  of  the  British  hospital  at 
La  Treport  was  on  the  wire.  One  of  the  American  surgeons  from 
this  unit  had  been  over  to  the  British  headquarters  of  the  hospital, 
and  had  seen  lying  on  a  desk  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written, 
that  Colonel  Center  of  the  American  army  was  trying  to  locate 
his  son,  Donald.  I  had  called  that  hospital  and  had  been  told 
that  he  wasn't  there,  and  he  wasn't  in  the  British  unit,  but  was 
in  the  American  unit. 


It  is  queer  how  some  fairly  intelligent  men  who  are  reasonably 
well  informed  on  a  subject,  who  are  under  no  strain,  who  are 
having  a  pleasant  time  and  thoroughly  enjoying  themselves, 
can  develop  a  tremendous  case  of  absent-mindedness  without 
any  warning.  Just  like  a  college  professor  looking  for  his  glasses 
when  they  are  on  his  nose. 

The  Division  was  in  front  of  Albert  waiting  to  relieve  a 
British  Division  then  in  line.  There  was  a  day  that  had  to  be 
employed  in  some  sort  of  training,  and  the  General  decided 
that  the  two  infantry  regiments  of  the  66th  Brigade  should 
put  on  a  battle  exercise  on  the  terrain.  So  for  the  occasion  the 
senior  colonel  of  the  division  was  labeled  a  Brigadier  General, 
and  another  colonel  was  similarly  labeled,  and  one  infantry 
regiment  was  to  be  the  Red  Army  and  the  other  the  Blue  Army, 
and  the  two  hurriedly  made  generals  were  to  suppose  that  they 
had  each  an  army  with  which  to  fight  each  other. 

The  day  was  pleasant;  for  a  wonder  the  sun  was  both  warm 
and  bright,  and  as  the  Division  Commander  had  named  me  as 
commentator  and  observer  for  the  conduct — and  errors  if  any — 
of  the  Blue  army,  it  began  to  look  like  a  bon  war. 

The  Blue  army  was  to  be  the  attacking  force  and  during  the 
maneuver  was  to  advance  some  three  kilometres  in  order  to 
come  to  hand  grips  with  the  Red  enemy.  The  artillery  had  to 
be  assumed,  and  as  there  was  but  one  aeroplane  obtainable  for 

107 


this  use,  this  bird  had  to  divide  his  time  and  act  alternately  for 
each  force,  but  the  effort  was  made  to  make  the  problem  as 
realistic  as  possible. 

Being  critic  I  had  been  informed  previously  of  the  problem 
in  its  details,  and  of  the  general  plan  each  army  had  in  mind. 
Among  other  features  there  had  been  arranged  for  a  specified 
hour — provided  the  Blue  army  had  reached  a  certain  point  by 
that  hour — a  gas  attack  on  the  Blue  forces.  This  was  to  come 
from  projectors  so  placed  that  the  wind  would  sweep  the  gas 
along  the  advancing  line.  The  Blue  army  had  been  warned  that 
in  all  probability  they  would  receive  such  an  attack  during  the 
day,  and  all  officers  and  men  were  to  be  told  that  if  gas  came  it 
would  not  be  a  'phony  attack,  but  the  real  thing,  and  that  the 
respirators  must  be  used. 

At  the  given  hour  the  Blue  line,  in  three  waves  was  nearing 
the  designated  objective  where  those  informed  knew  gas  was  to 
come,  and  just  then  a  platoon  on  the  extreme  right  of  the  Blue 
line  gave  the  gas  alarm;  every  one  flew  to  his  gas  mask.  Partly 
because  of  the  personal  necessity  and  partly  to  assure  men  and 
officers  that  it  was  the  real  thing,  I  grabbed  mine  as  soon  as 
anyone  else,  and  slipped  it  on.  To  my  disgust  the  thing  wouldn't 
work;  if  I  inhaled  it  clung  to  my  face;  if  I  exhaled  it  ballooned 
out  until  it  threatened  to  pull  itself  off.  Hurriedly  jerking  it  off 
I  gave  it  the  'once  over'  and  slipped  it  back  on  again,  but  it 
acted  in  just  the  same  way.  Now  I  had  gone  over  that  mask 
that  morning  and  knew  it  was  in  working  condition,  but  it 
wouldn't  work  here.  I  was  just  about  to  'beat  it'  ignominiously 
away  from  that  quartering  wind  when  the  trouble  disclosed 
itself.  As  an  observer,  I  had  been  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  a 
cigar;  this  had  burned  down  practically  to  my  lips  but  the  stub 
had  been  retained.  Just  how  I  managed  to  keep  that  butt  be- 
tween my  teeth  while  inserting  the  mouthpiece  of  the  respirator 
I  don't  know,  but  there  it  had  been.  Naturally  the  exhaled 
breath  had  escaped  between  the  cigar  butt  and  the  mouth- 
piece, while  the  inhaled  air  was  coming  partly  through  the 
mouth-piece  and  partly  from  inside  the  mask  itself.  Oh  yes, 
chagrin  was  my  middle  name. 


108 


July  4th  was  celebrated  by  portions  of  our  131st  and  132nd 
regiments  of  infantry,  together  with  some  Australian  con- 
tingents, in  putting  on  "a  show"  near  Hamel  woods.  This 
resulted  in  some  600  prisoners  for  the  Thirty-third  Division — 
the  first  ones  we  had  been  called  upon  to  handle. 

About  this  time  too,  the  Hun  discovered  that  there  were 
American  troops  in  his  front,  and  so  proceeded  to  try  to  "put 
our  wind  up"  for  us.  The  city  of  Albert  was  in  our  immediate 
front,  and  while  it  was  a  sort  of  "No  Man's  Land"  still  it  was 
in  German  hands.  One  forenoon  a  battery  of  155s  opened  up 
just  behind  Albert,  and  gave  our  Division  headquarters  a  taste 
of  high  explosive.  One  shell  landed  about  200  feet  from  the 
chateau  where  General  Bell  was  billeted.  That  afternoon  a 
company  of  our  engineers  was  busy  constructing  a  forty-foot 
dugout  near  the  chateau,  and  orders  were  issued  for  all  officers 
and  men  to  get  their  sleeping  quarters  underground.  Trains 
headquarters  were  located  at  the  village  marie  and  school 
house — for  it  was  a  combination  building — and  for  a  few  nights 
we  obeyed  the  order,  and  seven  officers,  the  school  teacher — 
who  had  not  fled  because  she  said  she  had  nowhere  to  go — and 
the  old  care-taker  and  his  wife  slept  in  the  tiny  cellar  under  the 
building.  This  would  have  provided  protection  against  frag- 
ments of  shells,  but  the  discomfort  was  so  much  greater  than  the 
risk,  that  we  soon  went  back  to  sleeping  on  the  floors  of  the 
building. 

One  night  about  eleven  o'clock,  Major  Hart  and  I  who  slept 
on  the  floor  of  a  little  room  upstairs,  were  lying  talking  when 
we  heard  a  'plane  coming  over.  I  had  just  remarked,  "He  is 
one  of  ours,"  for  the  sound  was  not  that  of  a  German  machine, 
when  in  the  immediate  vicinity  we  heard  a  BLAM.  That  settled 
the  question  of  whether  it  was  a  Jerry  or  not.  Almost  at  once 
we  could  hear  the  whistling  sound  of  another  bomb  falling 
through  the  air,  and  that  whistle  meant  "It's  close  to  you." 
Then  came  another  WHAM.  The  building  rocked;  plaster  fell; 
glass  crashed  and  rattled;  the  room  filled  with  acrid  fumes. 
Jumping  up  I  rushed  to  the  stair  wondering  if  any  of  my  officers 
or  men  had  been  hit.    On  the  stair  I  met  Captain  Algeo  coming 

109 


up.  He  gasped,  "Colonel  is  that  gas?"  referring  to  the  choking 
fumes  of  the  H.  E.  None  of  the  five  who  were  sleeping  on  the 
floor  down  stairs  had  been  hurt.  Stepping  outdoors,  where 
there  had  been  nothing  but  dry  ground  and  sidewalk  when  we 
went  to  bed,  I  stepped  on  something  soft  and  slippery;  looking 
down  I  could  see  a  large,  dark  blob ;  all  around  were  dark  blobs. 
Voices  in  the  direction  of  the  first  bomb  could  be  heard,  and  soon 
came  stretcher  men  to  carry  the  dead  and  wounded.  A  column 
of  English  troops  was  just  turning  the  corner  of  the  street  when 
the  first  bomb  fell  in  the  street  in  front  of  them.  A  Captain 
and  two  men  were  killed,  and  five  others  wounded.  The  second 
bomb  had  fallen  in  the  nearly  dry  village  pond  which  was  just 
in  front  of  the  mairie,  and  the  dark  blobs  I  had  seen  were  masses 
of  the  thick,  sticky  mud  from  the  hole  ten  feet  deep,  and  twenty 
feet  in  diameter  in  that  one-time  pond.  From  that  night  I  could 
understand  the  feeling  of  those  officers  of  the  First  Division, 
who  had  broken  up  our  poker  game. 

I  think  most  of  those  having  this  feeling  of  apprehension  in 
the  presence  of  a  Jerry,  wanted  to  get  out  in  the  open;  wanted 
to  get  away  from  the  crowd,  feeling  instinctively  that  Jerry 
would  not  bother  about  sniping  one  lone  man.  But  Jerry  was 
always  shooting  into  the  dark,  and  he  was  just  as  apt  to  drop 
his  load  somewhere  outside  the  town  as  he  was  to  hit  the  town. 
For  my  own  part  I  wanted  always  to  be  on  my  feet;  sitting,  or 
lying  down  was  unbearable;  when  on  my  feet  it  did  not  matter 
whether  I  was  outdoors  or  indoors,  but  I  had  to  stand  up. 

This  same  Jerry  was  shot  down  a  little  later  in  the  evening, 
and  then  we  learned  why  his  sound  had  fooled  us.  The  'plane 
was  an  Italian  one  which  the  Germans  had  captured,  and  which 
they  were  now  using. 

The  next  night  Jerry  visited  us  again,  but  this  time  he  vented 
his  spleen  on  a  field  near  the  chateau,  and  on  Pierregot — a 
village  a  kilometre  from  Molliens.  Here  a  bomb  swept  the  head 
cleanly  off  the  man,  who  had  sat  up  in  his  shallow  pit  bringing 
his  head  above  ground,  while  a  man  on  guard  only  a  few  feet 
away  was  untouched. 

As  is  always  the  case,  many  unexplainable  things  happen  in 

110 


war.  While  with  the  First  Division,  four  officers  were  standing 
in  a  little  group,  talking.  A  77  came  over,  and  exploded  probably 
sixty  feet  beyond  them;  not  one  of  the  four  was  touched.  A 
runner  was  coming  up  with  a  message  for  one  of  the  four;  he 
was  at  least  two  hundred  feet  from  the  point  of  the  explosion, 
and  was  killed  instantly  by  a  splinter  of  steel  through  the  heart. 
On  Lorette  Ridge,  which  is  near  Vimy  Ridge,  there  was  the 
historic  shrine  of  "Our  Lady  of  Lorette."  Lorette  Ridge,  again 
like  Vimy,  is  a  large  plateau  with  fairly  gently  slope  on  one  side, 
and  abrupt  and  almost  precipitous  hill  on  the  other.  Sixty 
thousand  Frenchmen  lost  their  lives  on  Lorette  in  1915.  The 
church  and  shrine  were  almost  churned  to  powder  by  the  shell 
fire  of  the  Germans.  The  image  of  "Our  Lady"  has  not  even 
been  scratched.  When  I  was  there  early  in  '18,  the  plateau  was 
still  covered  with  skeletons  and  the  remains  of  dead  men.  Two 
French  "blesses"  had  dug  a  well  and  a  tunnel,  and  down  in  the 
tunnel  had  made  another  shrine  for  "Our  Lady,"  where,  in  spite 
of  the  scarcity  and  high  prices  they  managed  to  keep  candles 
burning  day  and  night. 

At  Corbie  there  was  a  rather  imposing  looking  cathedral,  or 
it  must  have  been  so  before  the  war.  Corbie,  like  Villers-Bre- 
toneau  was  taken  and  re-taken  repeatedly.  The  cathedral  made 
a  recognized  point  for  the  laying-on  of  the  distant  guns,  and  the 
three  years  of  warfare  had  destroyed  the  roof  completely,  and 
every  old  wall  was  pierced  and  broken.  The  interior  had  been 
stripped  of  woodwork  of  all  kinds;  the  Huns,  at  one  time,  had 
used  this  cathedral  as  a  stable  for  the  horses  of  a  cavalry  outfit; 
most  of  the  images  of  the  saints  and  apostles  had  been  broken 
or  cast  down;  a  more  than  life  size  image  of  the  Christ,  carved 
from  stone,  high  on  the  wall  above  the  great  altar,  was  untouched 
in  every  way. 

The  line  from  Scripture,  "One  shall  be  taken  and  another  left" 
was  proven  daily.  One  night  when  the  Thirty-third  was  in  the 
Meuse-Argonne  battle,  I  was  forward  looking  that  rations  and 
ammunition  got  to  the  front.  In  the  ruined  village  of  Cumieres, 
where  there  was  literally  not  one  stone  left  upon  another,  a 
village  that  lay  just  beside  "Dead  Man's  Hill,"  and  a  village 

111 


that  for  three  years  had  been  in  No  Man's  Land,  I  had  an  M.  P. 
on  a  field  telephone.  This  phone  was  in  a  little  booth  perhaps 
two  feet  square — just  large  enough  so  that  the  man  could  stand 
inside  out  of  the  rain.  This  booth  was  on  a  little  bank,  perhaps 
three  feet  high,  beside  the  road.  I  was  walking  down  the  gentle 
slope  toward  this  phone;  at  the  same  time,  and  at  about  the 
same  distance  from  the  booth,  came  the  driver  of  a  Supply 
train  truck  from  the  other  direction;  he  was  walking  up  a  gentle 
slope.  A  shell  was  heard  screaming.  There  is  an  old  saying  that 
you  never  hear  the  shell  that  hits  you;  this  is  not  so.  You  can 
hear  the  scream  of  the  shell,  and  tell  from  the  sound  whether 
it  is  coming  in^your  direction  or  not,  or  whether  it  is  billed  to 
go  considerably  to  the  right  or  the  left  of  you,  but  you  cannot 
tell  whether  it  is  going  to  be  a  "short"  or  an  "over."  We  all 
three  heard  this  shell.  The  man  in  the  booth  stood  fast;  he  had 
no  time  to  do  anything  else.  Usually  I  would  have  thrown  my- 
self on  the  ground,  but  it  was  so  muddy,  and  I  was  so  physically 
exhausted  that  one  shell  more  or  less  seemed  a  small  matter  to 
me.  The  driver  of  the  truck  threw  himself  into  the  shallow  ditch 
by  the  roadside.  The  shell  landed  within  twenty  feet  of  the 
telephone  booth,  about  seventy  feet  from  me,  and  a  little  less 
than  a  hundred  feet  from  the  truck  driver.  It  was  an  "instan- 
taneous"— a  fuse  set  to  explode  on  probably  fifteen  pounds  of 
impact,  for  it  made  a  hole  in  the  road  no  larger  than  a  dinner 
plate.  The  man  in  the  booth  was  untouched;  I  was  untouched, 
but  well  spattered  with  mud;  the  driver  of  the  truck,  lying  in  the 
ditch,  had  the  top  of  his  head  taken  off. 

Another  day  in  front  of  "Dead  Man's  Hill"  Captain  Troxell, 
driver  Stone  and  I  were  coming  back  from  the  front,  toward 
Cumieres.  One  portion  of  the  road  was  in  open  observation 
from  the  Hun  lines  less  than  2000  yards  away;  daylight  had 
caught  us  but  we  decided  to  take  the  risk.  A  shell  came  over 
and  "dusted"  us;  another  came  and  sent  a  fragment  through 
the  radiator.  Feeling  that  we  had  no  particular  attachment  for 
that  Dodge  car,  we  jumped  out  and  slid  down  in  an  old  shallow 
trench,  where  we  hugged  the  side  from  which  the  fire  came,  as 
closely  as  possible.    In  less  than  five  minutes  thirty  more  shells 

112 


fell  around  us.  One  plumped  into  the  earth  just  outside  of  the 
parapet  where  we  were  lying.  Did  you  ever  think  in  a  hurry? 
Did  you  ever  have  to  decide  a  question  immediately,  or  sooner? 
We  did;  we  might  try  to  run  and  be  caught  running  when  the 
explosion  came,  and  take  our  chance  of  being  hit;  we  could  lie 
still  and  take  our  chance  of  being  buried,  or  of  being  torn  to 
pieces  where  we  lay.  And  we  lay  still.  We  knew  that  unless  it 
was  a  delayed  fuse  that  running  wouldn't  get  us  anywhere; 
we  knew  too,  that  to  jump  up  exposed  us  to  a  greater  chance  for 
severe  or  fatal  concussion,  even  if  we  were  not  hit,  so  we  decided 
to  take  the  chance  of  being  buried  alive,  or  of  being  blown  out 
bodily;  but  we  didn't  talk  these  matters  over;  no  one  said  a 
word,  and  we  lay  there  a  period  that  seemed  like  a  week  or  two, 
and  that  shell  never  did  go  off;  it  was  a  "dud." 

How  do  I  know  that  thirty-two  shells  came  over  there  in  less 
than  five  minutes?  Because  I  glanced  at  my  wrist  wTatch  as  we 
tumbled  into  the  trench,  and  because  we  counted  the  shells. 
That  was  orders,  to  report  the  amount  of  fire  on  a  given  or  certain 
area,  and  the  time  in  which  the  fire  was  delivered,  and  to  spot — by 
the  sound — the  place  from  which  the  fire  seemed  to  come.  Such 
information  was  valuable  to  our  artillery  in  several  ways;  it 
helped  locate  where  the  guns  of  the  enemy  were,  and  the  rapidity 
of  fire  told  whether  it  was  a  battery  that  was  doing  the  firing, 
or  whether  it  was  merely  a  decoy  gun  stuck  out  somewhere. 


Hdqs.  33rd.  Division 

A.  E.  F  —  August  2,  1918 

My  dear  Bishop — After  receiving  your  good  letter,  together 
with  two  from  Emmett  Howard,  and  one  from  our  old  friend 
Halsey  Osborn,  I  am  encouraged  to  write  again.  But  as  always, 
the  question  is,  "What  can  I  write?"  Ordinarily,  when  one  is  at 
an  epistolary  loss  the  weather  and  one's  health,  together  with  a 
polite  question,  and  a  more  or  less  superficial  hope  regarding 
the  health  of  the  addressee,  suffices.  Over  here  the  weather  can 
be  best  described  with  a  few  dashes  and  an  exclamation  point. 
My  health  is  shamefully  good.      But  there  is  a  matter,  one  I 

113 


have  kept  my  pen  away  from  until  my  first  impressions  could  be 
confirmed,  a  little  matter  of  analysis,  a  study  of  temperament, 
of  environment,  and  psychology  which  may  prove  of  interest 
to  you.  Now,  Ed,  if  you  read  this  at  the  Rotary  meeting,  and 
get  it  off  in  your  best  dramatic  manner,  perhaps  we  can  put  it 
over.  I  say  "we"  for  I  want  a  partner  for  the  strain  I  am  about 
to  place  upon  the  good  nature  of  the  Rotarians.  Just  break  the 
news  to  them  that  I  am  going  to  offer  proof — with  the  bunch 
as  jury — that  the  American  soldier  is  the  best  in  the  world,  and 
give  them  a  chance  to  plead  "urgent  business"  if  they  want  to 
leave.  In  general,  I  am  going  to  deal  with  the  enlisted  man.  He 
is  fighting  this  war,  and  he  is  going  to  win  this  war,  and  all  the 
glory  a  commissioned  officer  gets  is  a  reflected  glory. 

The  Canadian  soldier  is  a  marvel  of  military  perfection.  He  is 
not  particularly  enthusiastic;  he  is  a  quiet,  repressed  sort  of  an 
individual.  He  has  no  romance  in  his  make-up,  and  no  glamor 
affects  his  sight.  If  he  wins — and  he  generally  does — he  is  as 
cold  as  steel,  and  apparently  just  as  impressionable.  If  he  loses, 
he  is  just  as  impressionable  as  he  was  before.  One  of  the  decisive 
battles  of  the  world  is  alluded  to  by  him  as  "That  little  show  we 

had  at ."    He  acts  as  if  he  was  fed  to  repletion  on  war, 

and  he  fights  as  if  battle  and  bloodshed  had  been  his  breast 
milk  in  infancy.  He  comes  from  a  land  of  wide  spaces  and 
extended  vision.  His  methodic  preciseness  and  almost  immutable 
demeanor  is  a  parallel  of  the  quiet,  reserved  forces  of  "Our  Lady 
of  the  Snows." 

Now  that  last  sentence,  or  paragraph,  rather  seems  dragged 
in  by  the  heels,  but  there  is  method  in  my  madness  for  it  is 
merely  my  way  of  leading  up  to  the  question,  "How  much  effect 
does  native  environment  have  on  the  human  fighting  machine, 
and  what  makes  the  difference  in  the  fighting  men  of  the  various 
countries?"  Does  life  in  the  open,  the  physical  ability  to  look 
beyond  one's  doorstep,  have  anything  to  do  with  it?  How  much 
is  due  to  tradition,  how  much  to  training,  how  much  to  tem- 
perament? I'm  not  going  to  answer  all  these  questions;  you 
are  the  jury  and  all  I'm  going  to  do  is  to  present  the  case. 

Come  now  to  the  French  soldier.    In  the  main,  I  do  not  think 

114 


he  likes  the  game;  he  has  had  four  years  of  it,  but  so  have  the 
others,  and  if  it  is  granted  that  he  does  not  like  the  game,  one 
must  admit  that  he  is  among  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  for  he 
has  fought,  is  fighting,  and  is  willing  to  fight  again  if  it  is  neces- 
sary. With  him  there  is  no  question  of  the  abstract — he  is  fighting 
in  the  concrete,  fighting  for  his  actual  fireside.  He  has  centuries 
of  tradition  behind  him;  he  is  as  highly  trained  as  any;  he  has 
ancient  and  recent  wrongs  to  avenge;  and  still  I  feel  that  he 
does  not  like  the  game,  and  that  if  it  were  not  a  case  of  his  back 
to  the  wall  and  the  knife  at  his  throat,  he  would  not  be  the 
efficient  fighting  man  he  is.  He  then  is  limited  to  tradition  and 
training,  having  neither  the  environment  nor  the  temperament. 

Then  take  the  Scot,  the  dour,  hard-headed  Scot.  He  is  like 
the  Canadian  in  nearly  every  way  but  one — the  Scot  has  a  lust 
for  fighting.  Not  that  he  is  any  better  than  the  Canadian,  but 
he  is  different  in  this  respect,  and  when  a  battalion  of  Sandy 
McPhersons  and  Wully  Gordons  and  Bobby  McGregors  starts 
"over  the  top"  the  pick  of  the  Hun  nation,  man  for  man,  cannot 
stop  them.  They  have  tradition  and  temperament,  and  in  a 
measure  at  least,  they  have  the  open  spaces,  for  in  viewing  crag 
from  crag,  peak  from  peak,  and  looking  across  the  loch  from 
either,  the  Scot  looks  into  the  distance  and  creates  for  himself 
a  conception  of  boundless  areas. 

And  now,  welcome  the  wild  west!  Turn  out  the  guard  for  the 
spirit  of  the  plains!  The  Australian  has  come.  He  is  the  native 
son;  the  smell  of  the  earth  is  in  his  nostrils;  he  is  the  village 
cut-up;  he  is  the  irrespressible,  irresponsible,  irresistable  IT. 
He  loves  fighting  because  it  is  fighting.  He  doesn't  care  a  hang 
for  King,  Kaiser,  captain,  or  major  general.  In  fact,  he  is  rather 
apt,  if  the  idea  occurs  to  him  to  slap  the  general  on  the  back 
and  say,  "I  say,  old  top,  that  was  a  bloody  fine  show  we  pulled 
off,  what?"  He  has  the  most  lurid  and  unconventional  vo- 
cabulary in  the  world.  He  is  wild  and  wooly,  and  has  never  been 
curried  below  the  knees.  One  of  the  Australian  division  com- 
manders said  to  me,  "Don't  you  know  our  fellows  disappear 
when  there  is  nothing  doing  on  the  front;  where  they  go  I  don't 
know;  how  they  hear  that  a  show  is  going  to  start  I  don't  know, 

115 


but  as  soon  as  there  is  a  fight  in  the  wind  the  beggars  all  come 
back."  They  have  adopted  the  American  lock,  stock  and  barrel. 
They  are  breezy,  boisterous  and  impudent  when  viewed  from  a 
military  standpoint,  and  good  natured!  I  have  seen  them  half 
drunk,  put  in  arrest  by  an  American  M.  P.,  resist  arrest  as  a 
matter  of  course,  get  a  huge  American  fist  on  the  eye,  nose  or 
jaw,  go  to  bye-bye  from  the  blow,  wake  up  with  a  split  lip  or  a 
black  eye,  and  the  man  who  turned  the  trick  is  a  blood  brother 
ever  after.  There  is  no  malice  in  them,  and  yet  they  rarely  take 
prisoners.  They  are  of  the  family  of  the  "Three  Musketeers," 
with  an  admixture  of  Irish  and  devil.  They  have  no  tradition; 
they  have — outwardly — but  little  training;  it  is  there  but  they 
don't  show  it;  but  they  have  the  temperament,  and  they  come 
from  the  wide,  open  spaces. 

And  now  for  the  proof  which  I  promised  you  in  the  beginning. 

The  American  likes  fighting  for  fighting's  sake.  He  has  an 
intense  desire  to  prove  himself  the  best  man  of  them  all.  More 
than  any  other  soldier  does  he  have  the  spirit  of  competition. 
Like  the  Scot,  and  the  Canadian,  and  the  Australian  his  diction- 
ary lacks  the  word  "licked."  He  has  all  the  dash  and  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  Australian.  He  is  just  as  steely  cold  in  the 
decisive  moment  as  the  Canadian.  He  is  sufficiently  intelligent 
to  know  that  he  is  fighting  in  the  abstract,  and  is  doing  it  without 
having  his  back  to  the  wall.  He  has  an  immense  personal  in- 
itiative and  resourcefulness.  He  realizes  danger,  and  walks  into 
that  danger  to  do  his  bit  before  the  danger  can  cut  him  down. 
He  is  best  when  the  strain  is  the  worst.  If  officer  or  man  is  told 
off  for  some  especially  dangerous  duty,  I  have  heard  them  say, 
"Well,  I've  got  a  'good-night,  fellows,  good  morning  Peter,' 
detail" — not  said  in  a  spirit  of  irreverance  or  bravado,  but  as 
a  recognition  of  what  is  in  front  of  them,  and  then  calmly  and 
unconcernedly  take  the  detail.  Invention  of  expression  is 
characteristic  of  the  soldiers  from  the  States.  In  fact,  the 
Australian,  with  his  ever  ready  flow  of  Billings-gate,  finds  the 
readiness  and  aptness  of  language  of  the  American  another  tie 
in  their  brotherhood  of  blood,  but  the  Australian  would  never 
invent  such  a  reply  as  this  to  the  remark  frequently  heard, 

116 


"Hits  a  bloody,  'orrid  war;"  "Yes,  it's  a  hell  of  a  war,  but  it's 
the  best  one  we've  got."  The  American  has  the  tradition,  he 
has  the  temperament,  he  has  the  wide  open  spaces  and  he  has 
the  training.  I  left  that  for  the  last,  purposely.  Some  of  the 
people  of  Quincy  saw  last  summer,  exhibitions  of  bayonet  drill 
out  at  Camp  Parker.  That  same  bayonet  drill  has  caused  British 
officers  who  have  seen  our  troops  in  action  to  exclaim,  "My  word, 
but  your  fellows  are  very  keen  at  that  work."  So  they  are,  so 
keen  they  cleaned  up  a  considerable  number  of  that  crack  outfit, 
the  Prussian  Guard,  man  to  man,  the  other  day,  and  they  are 
just  as  keen  with  the  rifle,  the  machine  gun,  and  the  hand  grenade. 
They  are  the  bonniest  fighters  the  world  has  ever  seen,  and  the 
anxious  families  at  home  who  may  now,  or  may  in  the  future  be 
sorrowing  over  the  death  of  one  of  these  bonny  fighting  men, 
these  families  may  hold  their  heads  high  with  pride  that  one 
of  theirs  was  one  of  the  best  the  world  has  known,  in  this,  the 
greatest  war  in  all  history.  But  may  the  good  Lord  bring  an 
early  and  lasting  peace. 


117 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

But  to  get  back  to  life  at  Molliens,  and  into  the  4th  British 
Army  again. 

Following  the  show  of  July  4th  the  Division  participated  in 
the  battle  of  Chipilly  Ridge,  and  of  Gressaire  Wood.  This 
engagement,  like  the  battle  of  Cantigny,  was  a  comparatively 
small  affair  but  with  far-reaching  results.  The  French  had 
learned  that  the  American  regulars  could,  and  would  fight. 
Now  the  British  discovered  that  our  citizen  soldiery  was  equal 
in  the  final  test,  to  any  troops  of  the  British  army.  In  fact,  the 
American  citizen  soldiery  took  Chipilly  Ridge,  which  the  dash- 
ing, hard-fighting  Australians  were  not  sanguine  about  tackling. 
In  this  engagement  the  Division  experienced  its  first  heavy 
losses,  as  there  were  needed  for  the  131st  infantry  regiment 
alone,  some  1200  replacements  after  this  fight.  As  a  result  of 
this  engagement  too — as  we  afterward  learned  from  prisoners 
and  from  captured  documents — the  German  high  command 
listed  the  Thirty-third  Division  as  "first  class"  troops,  something 
of  a  distinction,  since  they  classified  only  five  divisions  of 
National  Guard  troops  in  this  way. 

A  pleasant  interlude,  because  of  its  ceremonial  aspect,  because 
of  its  motive  and  outcome,  and  because  it  was  a  glimpse  of 
something  never  before  seen  in  our  democratic  regime,  was  the 
visit  paid  to  the  Division  subsequent  to  the  battle  of  Chipilly 
Ridge  and  Gressaire  Wood,  by  the  King  of  England.  The  reason 
was  a  two-fold  one.  First,  General  Pershing  was  to  be  made  a 
Knight  Commander  of  the  Order  of  the  Bath  by  King  George, 
and  second,  several  officers  and  men  of  the  Division  were  to  be 
decorated  by  Royalty  because  of  the  good  work  done  in  the 
battle  just  mentioned.  This  was  logical,  diplomatic,  and  pictur- 
esque. It  may  be  stated  here  that  the  Thirty-third  Division 
was  the  only  American  Division  which,  at  one  time  or  another, 
was  a  part  of  British  Army,  French  Army,  and  of  First,  Second 
and  Third  American  Armies.    At  this  particular  time  it  was  a 

118 


part  of  4th  British  Army,  which  was  commanded  by  General 
Sir  Henry  Rawlinson. 

The  King  had  indicated  that  on  a  specified  date  he  wished  to 
show  his  appreciation  of  the  Division  by  bestowing  decorations, 
and  General  Pershing  came  to  Molliens  at  the  instance  of  the 
King  to  be  knighted  and  decorated.  The  ceremony  concerning 
General  Pershing  took  place  within  the  chateau  where  General 
Bell  had  his  headquarters,  and  was  witnessed  by  General  Bell, 
his  aides,  his  chief-of-starT,  and  his  Division  adjutant.  The 
further  ceremonies  were  held  in  a  beautiful  glade  in  the  rear  of 
the  chateau.  General  Bell  had  issued  orders  for  a  definite  number 
of  men  from  each  unit  of  the  Division  to  be  sent  into  Molliens  to 
witness  the  ceremony.  He  had  designated  me  as  Master  of 
Ceremonies  and  commander  of  the  detachments  coming  in, 
which  were  to  be  formed  into  a  united  force  for  the  occasion. 
So  on  this  July  morning  I  had  these  enlisted  men,  with  their 
officers,  drawn  up  on  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square.  A  table 
was  placed  in  the  open  side  which  led  to  the  chateau;  from  this 
side  the  King  and  his  retinue  would  approach;  on  the  table 
would  be  placed  the  glittering  and  be-ribboned  decorations;  the 
individuals  to  receive  them  would  march  up  to  the  table,  and  in 
person  the  King  would  pin  them  on  the  American  recipients. 

Company  A  of  the  Military  Police  was  designated  as  the  guard 
of  honor  to  receive  the  royal  party  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
chateau.  This  company  was  drawn  up  in  company  front,  and 
on  the  arrival  of  the  King,  presented  arms;  then  General  Sir 
Henry  Rawlinson  reviewed  the  troops  and  inspected  arms;  the 
King,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  party  entered 
the  chateau.  When  General  Pershing  had  been  invested,  the 
royal  party  emerged  from  the  chateau  and  proceeded  toward 
the  hollow  square  previously  mentioned. 

Prior  to  this,  and  when  we  were  talking  over  the  arrangements 
for  the  occasion,  I  had  said  to  General  Bell,  "As  the  King 
approaches  I  will  give  the  command  "present  arms;"  Who  will 
give  the  command  "order  arms?"  Of  course  I  was  in  immediate 
command  of  these  troops,  but  General  Bell  was  my  superior, 
and  General  Pershing  was  his  superior,  and  still  further — and 

119 


in  a  strictly  military  sense — the  King  was  General  Pershing's 
superior,  and  all  of  them  would  be  present,  and  as  a  matter  of 
fact  the  King  was  in  command  of  the  whole  affair.  My  middle- 
west  up-bringing  had  not  made  me  fully  conversant  with  a 
positive  knowledge  of  the  proper  etiquette  for  the  occasion,  and 
I  wasn't  anxious  to  pull  any  "boner"  that  would  embarrass 
myself,  General  Bell,  General  Pershing  or  the  King.  General 
Bell  was  in  a  dilemma  also;  he  would  not  authorize  me  to  call 
the  troops  to  the  "order,"  nor  would  he  take  the  responsibility 
of  giving  the  command  himself.  It  began  to  look  as  if  those 
troops  would  be  left  standing  there  at  the  "present"  until  the 
King  got  ready  to  go  home.  Finally  I  said  to  General  Bell, 
"After  the  King  passes  my  post,  and  I  have  given  my  personal 
salute,  I  will  wait  a  moment,  and  if  he  does  not  exercise  his 
prerogative,  I  will  call  the  troops  to  the  'order'  myself."  You 
see,  we  were  Americans,  and  not  knowing  how  the  King  might 
feel  about  assuming  any  authority  on  this  occasion,  we  were 
all  in  the  dark  as  to  the  outcome. 

The  royal  party  approached,  the  King  on  the  right,  General 
Pershing  on  his  left,  followed  by  English  and  American  officers 
in  order  of  rank.  When  the  King  reached  our  regular  recognition 
distance,  I  gave  the  command  "present  arms,"  and  followed 
by  wheeling  and  making  the  salute  myself.  I  think  this  was  the 
only  time  in  my  life  when  I  sincerely  wished  for  the  sabre,  for 
the  hand  salute  seemed  entirely  inadequate  for  the  occasion. 

The  King  gravely  returned  my  salute  and  passed  on.  I  thought, 
"If  he  says  nothing  by  the  time  he  has  gone  six  paces  I  will 
call  the  troops  to  the  'order'."  At  the  exact  point — and  he  must 
have  been  counting  his  steps — the  King  turned  his  head  slightly, 
and  said,  "Call  the  troops  to  the  'order'."  As  an  exhibition  of 
tact,  and  of  consideration,  and  of  appreciation,  and  of  ability 
to  think  under  unusual  circumstances,  it  was  an  instance  hard 
to  beat. 

It  is  only  fair  to  say  too,  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  not 
present  at  this  ceremony.  As  soon  as  General  Pershing  had  been 
knighted,  the  Prince  stole  away,  and  when  the  royal  party  was 

120 


ready  to  leave  he  was  discovered  hobnobbing  with  our  enlisted 
men  and  some  of  our  junior  officers,  and  evidently  enjoying 
himself  as  much  as  our  fellows  enjoyed  him. 

Shortly  after  this  came  an  order  for  the  Division  to  make  so 
hurried  a  move  that  the  only  equipment  to  be  taken  was  such  as 
could  be  carried  by  the  man,  or  moved  by  the  battalion  trans- 
port units.  Everything  else  was  to  be  piled  up  at  one  point  or 
another,  and  left  behind.  The  Enfield  rifles,  issued  to  our  men  at 
Eu  were  to  be  turned  in;  ammunition  was  to  be  turned  in,  and 
everything  pointed  to  the  greatest  movement  of  the  organization 
of  the  First  American  Army.  The  different  units  of  the  Division 
received  orders  to  proceed  to  one  of  three  points  on  rail,  for 
entraining.  In  the  same  order  they  were  instructed  to  deposit 
their  property  of  all  sorts — property  and  material  that  could 
not  be  transported  by  the  individuals — in  dumps,  and  to  furnish 
map  references  concerning  the  location  of  these  dumps  to  the 
Commander  of  Trains.  A  guard  of  one  non-commissioned  officer 
and  five  privates  was  to  be  left  over  each  dump,  and  this  detail 
was  to  be  furnished  rations  for  five  days,  while  each  regimental 
unit,  or  its  equal  was  to  leave  one  commissioned  officer  behind  in 
charge  of  the  various  details  of  that  regiment. 

At  the  same  time  I  received  an  order  to  remain  behind  in  the 
area,  and  collect,  transport  and  ship  this  deposited  material. 
In  a  conversation  with  General  Bell  he  emphasized  the  im- 
portance to  him,  and  to  the  Division,  in  having  the  area  well 
cleared  of  this  government  property,  saying  that  one  American 
Division  which  had  received  orders  similar  to  those  of  the 
Thirty-third,  had  left  its  front  line  position  and  its  sector,  and 
had  abandoned  all  this  property  to  whomsoever  could  take  it; 
that  he  had  selected  me  to  remain  behind,  partly  because  he 
wished  to  leave  an  officer  in  charge  whose  rank  alone  would 
carry  weight  in  case  evidence  was  ever  required  to  be  produced 
on  the  question  of  our  efficiency  in  clearing  the  area,  and  partly 
because  he  had  found  that  when  I  did  a  thing  it  was  done 
thoroughly.  (I  took  this  latter  remark  as  salve  to  make  me  feel 
better  over  being  left  behind  the  Division.) 

I  was  to  request  motor  trucks  from  the  British,  who  had 

121 


promised  to  loan  them  for  this  purpose,  and  when  the  task  was 
finished  I  was  to  pick  up  the  various  details  and  rejoin  the 
Division.  On  asking  General  Bell  how  long  he  estimated  that 
the  job  would  take,  he  replied,  "Oh,  five  or  ten  days."  Let  me 
say  right  here  that  it  was  five  weeks  to  the  day  from  the  time 
I  said,  "Good-bye"  to  the  Division  until  I  saw  it  again. 

No  sooner  was  the  Division  gone  than  my  troubles  began. 
In  the  first  place  some  of  the  divisional  units  had  not  obeyed 
the  order  in  the  matter  of  furnishing  me  the  location  of  their 
dumps;  some  had  left  dumps  without  the  prescribed  guard 
detail  over  them;  in  some  cases  a  detail  was  left  without  a  non- 
commissioned officer;  some  details  were  left  with  no  rations,  or 
with  rations  for  but  a  day  or  two.  Only  one  regiment,  as  a  unit, 
obeyed  the  order  and  left  a  commissioned  officer  behind. 

The  Division  area  at  this  time  extended  from  Vignacourt  on 
the  west,  to  Albert,  Corbie  and  Bray  on  the  east,  a  distance  of 
about  forty  kilometres,  while  the  north  and  south  diameter 
was  nearly  twenty  kilometres.  The  first  day  was  spent  in 
driving — in  the  English  "Sunbeam" — over  the  area,  inspecting 
the  dumps  whose  locations  had  been  furnished  me.  The  sight 
was  appalling.  In  the  dump  of  one  of  the  infantry  regiments  I 
estimated  that  there  was  at  least  five  box-car  loads  of  material, 
stuff  that  included  everything  from  fur  rugs  which  had  been 
brought  from  home  by  officers,  expecting  to  be  able  to  use  them 
to  furnish  their  quarters,  to  sides  of  leather,  uniform  and  clothing 
equipment  of  all  kinds,  rifles,  ammunition,  kitchen  equipment  of 
all  sorts,  horse  equipment,  harness,  etc. 

In  looking  for  the  dump,  from  the  map  reference  given  by 
one  organization,  I  found  three  other  dumps  of  this  organization 
which  had  not  been  designated,  each  one  containing  unopened 
bales  of  shoes,  shirts,  underwear,  socks,  horse  equipment  and 
harness.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  there  were  found  fourteen 
different  dumps,  six  of  which  had  been  reported  to  me,  and  five 
of  which  had  a  guard  over  them.  Just  as  one  item  let  me  add 
we  collected  and  shipped  over  two  million  rounds  of  rifle  am- 
munition. 

When  it  came  to  the  matter  of  trucks  for  transporting  all  this 

122 


stuff  to  railhead,  I  ran  against  a  snag  immediately.  Request  was 
made  on  British  Corps  headquarters  for  ten  trucks  and  drivers 
for  the  next  day;  two  were  furnished,  and  the  following  day  none 
could  be  secured.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  British  were  short  of 
transportation  at  this  time;  their  forces  were  going  forward  in 
that  August  drive  then  on,  so  rapidly  that  they  had  difficulty 
keeping  their  own  necessary  supplies  up  to  the  front,  and  four 
days  went  by,  and  the  vast  amount  of  material  I  had  to  move  had 
scarcely  been  scratched.  The  fifth  day  on  request  from  myself, 
"G-4"  of  2nd  American  Corps  came  to  the  area,  and  was  shown 
the  task.  This  American  Corps  was  also  interested  in  having 
a  good  job  done,  inasmuch  as  this  Corps  was  secondarily  re- 
sponsible for  this  area  and  this  work.  This  Corps  Colonel  estim- 
ated that  there  was  between  $300,000  and  $500,000  worth  of 
government  property  in  these  dumps  of  the  Thirty-third  Division. 

The  battle  lines  continued  to  move  forward.  When  the 
Thirty-third  left  I  was  drawing  rations  from  47th  English 
Division.  They  moved  forward.  Then  I  attached  to  British 
Corps  headquarters  for  rations;  they  went  on  to  the  east.  Then 
we  hitched  ourselves  to  4th  British  Army  headquarters;  it  also 
moved  up  and  left  us. 

The  2nd  American  Corps  headquarters  was  at  first  at  Beauval, 
only  thirty-five  kilometres  north  of  me.  From  this  place  they 
managed  to  send  me  eight  trucks  one  day,  with  instructions  to 
the  drivers  to  return  that  night.  We  worked  those  trucks  until 
dark,  and  then  I  told  the  drivers  that  I  had  other  orders  for 
them — and  I  did,  my  orders — and  would  hold  them  for  the  next 
day  also.  Unfortunately  for  me  the  telephone  had  not  as  yet 
been  discontinued  by  4th  British  Army,  and  General  Read's 
•headquarters  at  Corps,  got  me  on  the  'phone  about  nine  the 
next  morning,  to  ask  where  in  heck  those  trucks  were,  and  why 
the  original  orders  had  not  been  observed.  I  spoke  to  them  as  soft 
as  I  could,  and  said  I  had  supposed  that  as  the  drivers  were  the 
only  ones  notified  that  a  return  was  to  be  made  that  night,  that 
such  instructions  were  given  them  as  advice  based  probably  on 
the  belief  that  we  had  no  facilities  for  feeding  and  billeting  these 
men;  that  they  were  scattered  all  over  the  area  now,  and  that 

123 


it  would  be  impossible  to  mobilize  them  much  before  evening 
anyway,  and  that  if  I  were  granted  the  use  of  them  for  the  day 
I  would  certainly  send  them  back  to  Beauval  that  night.  Finally 
they  acquiesced,  and  in  those  two  days  we  moved  eighty-two 
lorry  loads  to  railhead;  a  hole  had  been  made  at  last  in  the  big 
job. 

Just  prior  to  this  big  stretch  of  work  I  had  taken  it  upon 
myself  to  amend  my  orders  which  said,  "Railhead  at  Vignacourt." 
This  town  was  at  the  western  side  of  our  area  and  made  the 
longest  haul  possible.  Poulainville  was  just  a  little  west  of  the 
centre  of  the  area,  and  was  on  rail.  The  English  R.  T.  O.  at 
Poulainville  finally  agreed  to  accept  his  town  as  my  railhead, 
provided  he  had  orders  to  this  effect  from  a  responsible  American 
officer.  Fearing  that  red  tape  might  preclude  this  exchange  if  I 
applied  to  2nd  American  Corps  for  such  an  order,  I  decided  that 
I  was  a  responsible  officer,  that  I  had  an  independent  command, 
that  I  was  Lord  High  Chief  Justice  of  the  high,  the  middle,  and 
the  low,  and  was  the  whole  works  so  far  as  the  Molliens  area 
was  concerned,  so  I  issued  an  order  making  Poulainville  my 
railhead,  and  signed  it  "Center,  commanding  Molliens  area." 
It  went. 

About  this  time,  too,  the  British  forces  had  advanced  so  far 
that  not  even  4th  Army  headquarters  were  with  us.  Rations  had 
to  be  procured.  From  an  original  force  of  two  officers  and  thirty- 
eight  men  I  had  increased  to  four  officers  and  one  hundred  seventy- 
six  men  to  feed,  having  added  a  "Graves  Registration  Detail/' 
the  13th  American  Salvage  Company,  numerous  A.  W.  O.  L.'S 
I  had  picked  up,  and  a  number  of  men  who  had  returned  from 

hospital.    The  independent  American  army  was  growing. 

» 
On  Saturday  my  acting  Supply  officer  announced  that  he 
could  no  longer  draw  rations  from  4th  British  army.  What  to 
do?  All  telephone  communication  with  all  organizations  ceased 
when  4th  British  army  left  us.  The  men  had  to  be  fed;  I  did 
not  know  where  British  Army  had  gone,  so  Tommy  and  I  took 
the  Sunbeam  and  started  for  2nd  American  Corps  headquarters. 
As  said  before  they  had  been  at  Beauval — but  they  had  moved. 

124 


All  information  we  could  get  was  that  they  had  gone  "up  north" 
somewhere.  We  went  north,  to  Doullens,  to  St.  Pol,  to  Lilliers, 
to  St.  Omer,  to  Cassel, — the  only  information  from  French  or 
British  sources  being  that  the  2nd  Corps  had  gone  to  the  north. 
Following  the  battle  line  as  closely  as  possible  we  continued 
north,  and  at  Houtkerke,  Belgium,  we  located  them. 

The  Corps  was  with  the  British;  it  depended  on  the  British 
for  rations;  we  would  have  to  depend  on  the  same  sources.  Then 
I  impressed  them  with  the  fact  that  I  was  200  kilometres  from 
my  men;  that  we  had  to  eat  to  live;  that  we  would  finish  our 
"left-overs"  the  next  day,  and  that  on  Monday  there  would 
not  be  a  bite  for  anyone;  that  I  had  prisoners  and  partly  recovered 
men  from  hospitals.  Finally  they  said,  "How  much  room  have 
you  in  your  car?"  "The  whole  tonneau  and  the  running  boards." 
From  some  source  or  other  two  cases  of  hard  bread  were  found, 
and  some  cans  of  a  mixture  of  meat  and  vegetables.  The  Red 
Cross  unit  with  the  2nd  Corps,  and  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  outfit  there 
had  just  obtained  a  shipment  of  stuff,  so  from  them  I  got  choco- 
late, extract  of  beef,  cookies,  anything  and  everything  I  could 
get  in  the  food  line,  and  as  my  fellows  had  been  out  of  cigarettes 
for  several  days,  I  wheedled  them  out  of  several  cartons  of  smokes 
too.    The  tonneau  was  filled. 

While  this  was  going  on  Corps  headquarters  had  been  in 
communication  with  British  G.  H.  Q.,  and  by  the  time  Tommy 
and  I  were  ready  to  start  back  with  our  plunder  on  our  long 
drive,  information  was  received  that,  beginning  Monday  morning, 
rations  would  be  shipped  us  each  day  to  Poulainville. 

Going  home  the  Sunbeam  went  bad — it  was  a  daylight  car 
apparently — and  we  landed  "at  home"  at  four  a.  m. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  know  how  and  where  we  procured 
gasoline  for  the  Sunbeam.  When  the  Thirty-third  left  us  I 
secured  five  ten  gallon  cans  from  our  quartermaster.  Knowing 
that  this  would  be  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket,  even  if  we  finished 
our  work  in  the  five  or  ten  days  that  General  Bell  had  given  us, 
1  set  about  to  get  gas  at  once,  from  any  and  all  sources.  Forty- 
seventh  British  Division  had   yielded   twenty   gallons;  British 

125 


Corps  had  contributed  some;  4th.  British  Army  had  been  re- 
quisitioned for  some.  more.  On  the  drive  up  into  Belgium  we 
worked  two  French  gasoline  supply  stations  for  twenty  gallons 
apiece,  and  any  American  officer  who  ever  tried  to  get  gas  from 
a  French  supply  station  knows  that  it  takes  persistency,  diplo- 
macy, bluff  and  forgery  to  get  away  with  it.  At  any  rate,  our  gas 
efforts  were  so  successful  that  when  our  work  was  finally  com- 
pleted Tommy  had  more  than  fifty  gallons  in  reserve. 

At  last,  largely  because  the  Salvage  company  had  a  two-ton 
Packard  truck  of  its  own,  our  task  was  done.  This  meant  that 
we  had  moved  127  lorry-loads  of  material,  53  of  which  were 
engineers  heavy  material,  over  an  average  distance  of  sixteen 
kilometres  to  railhead,  where  we  had  sorted  and  shipped  this 
material  to  five  different  points. 


Somewhere  in  France,  August  29,  1918 
Mr.  Ray  Oakley, 
Rotarian  and  other  things: 

Having  just  read  in  the  Quincy  Herald  your  account  of  the 
invasion  of  Kansas  City  by  the  Rotarians,  I  am  minded  to  do 
a  little  invading  myself.  Just  what  that  means  I  don't  know, 
but  it  sounds  good.  Were  you  ever  marooned?  Or  kicked  out  in 
the  cold,  or  thrown  into  jail,  when  everybody  forgot  to  go  your 
bail?  Well,  I'm  sorry,  for  if  you  had  been  that  kind  of  an  orphan 
you  would  know  how  I  feel.  Here  I  am,  200  miles  or  more  from 
the  Division  which  has  moved.  When  the  Division  left  this 
sector  it,  the  sector,  was  previously  refilled — not  altogether  a 
paradox — with  troops  of  our  allies.  The  Hun  was  on  the  run 
when  the  33d  was  pulled  out;  he  is  still  on  the  run;  the  troops 
of  our  allies  have  followed  him,  and  here  I  be,  almost  out  of  the 
sound  of  even  the  heavy  guns,  in  a  little  village  now  more  quiet 
and  peaceful  than  a  country  churchyard,  stuck,  marooned,  side- 
tracked, and  as  Tommy  Atkins  would  say,  "A  bloomin'  well, 
bloody  orphan." 

When  you  move  from  one  house  to  another  you  discover  that 
the  cellar,  and  attic,  and  the  back  yard  and  the  barn  loft  have 

126 


an  awful  lot  of  excess  baggage  in  them.  Just  so  a  division,  which 
is  a  little  family  of  28000  or  so.  This  move  was  engineered  more 
or  less  in  a  hurry;  transportation  was  as  easy  to  get  as  a  seat  in 
a  street  car  coming  in  from  a  circus  at  Baldwin  Park;  con- 
sequently orders  were  given  to  each  regimental  organization,  to 
dump  at  a  selected  point,  all  material  which  could  be  spared  for 
a  matter  of  three  or  four  days;  a  guard  was  to  be  placed  over 
each  dump,  five  days  rations  left  for  the  guard,  and  yours  truly 
was  selected  to  remain  behind,  and  with  lorries  to  be  furnished 
by  our  allies,  get  this  stuff  to  railhead,  and  when  all  was  shipped, 
pick  up  the  guard  details,  and  rejoin  the  division.  Lovely  little 
program — with  only  several  big  "ifs"  in  it.  The  first  day  after 
the  division  left  I  motored — I  like  that  word;  it  helps  me  forget 
the  wretched  old  Sunbeam  car  I  have  to  ride  in — where  was  I? 
Oh  yes,  I  motored  over  the  divisional  area.  Now  a  divisional 
area  is  from  ten  to  thirty  miles  long  in  the  long  diameter,  and 
from  six  to  eight  in  the  waist.  Also,  in  this  present  war  game  it 
is  fashionable  to  put  your  troops  where  they  are  as  much  out  of 
sight  as  possible — soldiers  are  naturally  modest  and  shrinking 
anyway — so  wherever  there  is  an  inaccessible  spot,  or  a  large 
fat  swamp,  or  something  of  the  kind,  they  always  stick  a  regiment 
in  there.  So  I  motored  to  all  the  unlikely  places  and  found  11 
dumps,  and  these  dumps  have  in  them  everything  from  dirty 
socks  to  a  piano.  Fact,  I  found  a  piano  in  one  of  them,  and  as 
for  harness  and  motorcycles,  old  shoes,  army  pistols,  bacon 
cans,  underwear,  and  all  manner  of  stuff  there  is  no  end.  I 
estimate  75  lorry  loads,  or  225  tons.   Some  attic  full,  eh? 

Well,  putting  my  hat  on  my  head,  and  taking  my  most 
attractive  smile  by  the  hand,  I  go  to  the  S.  M.  T.  O. — which 
being  interpreted  means  in  his  British  Majesty's  service — the 
Senior  Motor  Transport  Officer,  and  call  his  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  is  nominated  in  the  bond  that  I  am  to  get  lorries 
to  move  this  stuff.  He  is  very  genial  as  icebergs  go — and  asks 
very  nonchalantly,  "How  many  tons  do  you  have  to  move?" 
"A  coupla  hundred,"  I  throw  back  at  him  with  a  very  ingenue 
air,  and  then  the  fight  began. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  emissaries  of  King  George  and 

127 


I  haven't  signed  any  partnership  papers  yet.  They  said  they 
were  willing  to  move  the  rain  barrel  and  the  baby's  cradle, 
but  that  they  didn't  agree  to  move  the  house  and  lot,  and  I'll 
be  darned  if  it  doesn't  look  as  if  they  would  win  the  bet,  for  the 
Hun  is  playing  their  game  by  falling  back,  and  every  day  the 
British  move  up  a  few  more  versts,  or  hectares,  or  whatever  they 
call  'em,  leaving  me  just  that  much  further  behind  with  my 
importunity.  Meantime  the  five  days  have  gone,  and  so  have 
the  rations.  The  last  batch  of  the  allies  as  they  flew  from  our 
sight,  flung  us  a  few  cans  of  bully  beef,  half  a  Stilton  cheese,  a 
pot  of  jam  and  their  blessing,  so  for  one  more  meal  my  gallant 
100 — no  to  be  accurate,  96 — my  gallant  96  will  not  starve.  I 
have  decided  to  give  the  jam  to  the  detail  at  36th  and  State 
Streets,  the  cheese  to  the  men  out  at  Burton,  and  divide  the 
bully  beef  between  myself  and  the  men  at  Walnut  Grove  and 
Buck  Bowles'  pasture.  I  hate  to  think  what  will  happen  to  the 
few  succulent  French  hens  which  still  remain,  and  to  the  lucious 
and  nutritious  green  apples,  if  some  D.  A.  D.  O.  S.  (Deputy 
Assistant  Director  Ordinance  Supply, — ain't  that  a  beaut?) 
doesn't  come  into  range  pretty  soon.  So  at  the  head  of  this  letter 
I  wrote  "somewhere,"  for  that  is  the  very  identical,  lucid  place 
where  we  are. 

Yesterday  a  nice  looking  little  fox  terrier  adopted  me.  How 
I  cherish  that  pup!  He  follows  me  all  about;  if  he  didn't  I  would 
put  a  string  on  him  and  lead  him,  for  I  have  designs  on  that 
dog.  Friday,  front  leg;  Saturday,  other  front  leg;  Sunday  dinner, 
leg  o'lamb  off  the  little  oP  pup,  and  so  on.  His  former  owner 
had  a  mean  disposition  though,  for  the  dog  has  only  the  stump 
of  a  tail.  It  probably  didn't  hurt  the  dog  much,  but  it  hurts 
me;  I  don't  like  to  see  my  food  supply  "cur  tailed."  To  make 
my  personal  affairs  still  worse  I  sent  all  my  baggage  but  a  bar 
of  soap  and  a  tooth  brush,  with  the  men  of  my  headquarters, 
when  they  accompanied  the  division.  It  has  turned  quite  chilly 
and  last  night  even  "the  marrow  of  my  bones"  was  chilled. 
(Quotation  from  Shakespeare,  chapter  8,  verse  23.)  Tonight  I 
expect  to  sleep  under  four  gunny  sacks.  We  have  no  tentage; 
we  have  no  lorries;  soon  we  will  have  no  allies  and  no  rations. 

128 


Wasn't  Sherman  the  wise  old  bird,  tho?  Another  thing.  Anyone 
who  says  the  English  lack  a  sense  of  humor  had  better  go  out 
and  see.  There's  that  motor  car,  the  Sunbeam.  Yep,  a  sunbeam 
steals  upon  you  silently,  warms,  cheers,  invigorates  you,  and 
gives  you  a  dozen  hours  of  daylight  to  do  your  work.  This  motor 
Sunbeam  thing  sounds  like  the  Amalgamated  Debating  Society 
of  Associated  Boiler  Shops.  It  warms  you  all  right,  though — 
under  the  collar;  it  cheers  you — just  like  the  Dead  March;  it 
invigorates  you  until,  unaided,  you  could  throw  it  over  the  wall 
into  the  river.  If  the  blamed  old  thing  wasn't  charged  up  to  me 
I  would  make  the  first  French  gasoline  supply  station  a  present 
of  it;  they  are  so  distinctly  not  generous  with  their  gas  that  they 
need  a  little  education  in  how  to  spend  it.  If  you  try  to  use  the 
old  bird,  and  manage  to  get  one  hour  of  daylight  into  actual 
work  you  are  ahead  of  the  game.  And  horse  power!  If  I  had 
a  load  stuck  in  the  mud  and  had  to  take  my  choice  between  the 
Sunbeam  and  this  fox  terrier  pup  I  would  hitch  up  the  pup, 
holler  "Sic,  'em  Tige"  and  it  would  be  a  safe  bet  to  lay  your 
money  on  the  pup.   Yep,  the  English  lack  a  sense  of  humor — not. 

I  know  this  isn't  much  of  a  letter,  but  just  as  the  one  little 
paraffine  candle  I  have  in  front  of  me  doesn't  give  much  light, 
so  does  my  little  one-horse  think-machine  work.  Also,  I  haven't 
had  much  experience  as  a  war  correspondent,  and  when  this 
war  is  over  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  have  any  more.  Amen.  Regards 
to  all  the  boys — and  girls. 

Then  came  the  question,  "Where  is  the  Thirty-third?  Not  even 
our  British  R.  T.  O.  could  find  this  out  for  us,  but  he  said  that 
if  he  had  an  order,  signed  by  a  responsible  American  officer,  he 
would,  in  due  time,  get  a  train  and  ship  us  somewhere.  So 
once  more,  in  the  face  of  all  existing  rules  and  regulations  to  the 
contrary,  I  issued  an  order  to  the  French  government  to  furnish 
a  train  of  so  many  coaches  to  transport  so  many  officers  and  men, 
and  signed  it  "Center,  commanding."  I  left  it  up  to  the  French 
to  find  out  who  Center  was,  and  what  he  commanded.  Three 
days  later  we  got  the  train. 

In  these  three  days,  and  with  fifty  gallons  of  gas  on  hand,  I 

129 


decided  if  Tommy  was  willing,  that  I  was  going  to  exercise  my 
prerogative  as  an  independent  commander,  and  instead  of 
traveling  by  train  that  we  would  drive  across  France.  Tommy  was 
not  only  willing  but  eager;  his  British  driving  had  not  taken 
him  over  very  much  of  the  map.  So  I  issued  myself  a  pass  and 
a  travel  order,  turned  the  command  of  the  troops  over  to  Lieu- 
tenant Weese — the  one  commissioned  officer  who  belonged  to 
the  Division  and  saw  them  aboard  the  train,  destination  un- 
known. Lieutenant  Weese  had  my  written  orders  to  report  to 
the  commanding  general,  Thirty-third  Division,  and  as  all 
bluffs  up  to  the  present  time  had  gone  over,  I  hoped  for  success 
with  this  one.  Of  necessity  the  train  must  pass  through  Is-sur- 
Tille,  and  as  this  town  was  a  distribution  point  for  both  supplies 
and  troop  replacements,  I  was  a  little  dubious. 

Tommy  and  I  started,  skirting  the  recent  battle  line  through 
Albert,  Amiens,  Montdidier,  Chateau-Thierry,  landing  for  our 
first  night  at  Chalons.  Whenever  we  had  been  halted  by  the 
French  for  travel  credentials,  my  self-issued  pass  was  all  suffi- 
cient. It  is  true  I  had  an  old  French  "Pink  Permis,"  a  relic  of 
First  Division  days  and  which  had  long  "before  outlived  its 
usefulness.  Whenever  I  pulled  out  my  "pass"  I  flashed  this 
pink  paper,  and  then  thrust  it  back  as  if  it  was  entirely  un- 
necessary for  the  occasion.  When  we  left  Chalons  we  began  to 
orient  ourselves,  and  decided  on  a  city  liable  to  furnish  us  some 
information  concerning  the  whereabouts  of  the  Thirty-third. 
Knowing  that  there  was  an  American  Officers  Club  at  Bar- 
le-Duc  we  headed  for  there.  No  news  of  the  Thirty-third,  but  a 
brigade  commander  of  the  Thirty-second  Division  imparted  the 
information  that  American  G.  H.  Q.  had  moved  from  Chaumont 
to  Ligny,  and  certainly  at  Ligny  I  could  get  the  desired  in- 
formation. So  to  Ligny  we  started;  Ligny  was  familiar  territory, 
for  I  had  been  there  several  times  while  with  the  First  Division. 

As  we  drew  near  the  city  we  were  halted  by  an  American 
military  police;  this  was  something  new.  When  G.  H.  Q.  was 
at  Chaumont  any  American  officer  could  drive  into  the  city 
unquestioned;  he  might  have  to  prove  that  he  had  business 
there  before  he  could  drive  out  again,  but  he  could  drive  in  all 

130 


right,  but  here  at  Ligny  the  M.  P.  said  no  one  could  come  in 
without  a  pass.  Of  course  "pass"  was  my  middle  name,  so  once 
more  I  exhibited  my  pet  invention;  it  worked.  We  went  on, 
and  almost  reached  the  heart  of  the  city  when  another  M.  P. 
halted  us.  Again  I  produced  the  "pass."  This  man  was  skeptical, 
or  was  better  informed  as  to  signatures  valid  on  passes.  His 
orders  were  that  I  could  not  proceed,  and  he  meant  what  he 
said;  he  meant  it  so  much  that  he  drew  his  45  automatic  to 
convince  me.  Later  I  learned  that  information  had  been  uncover- 
ed that  there  was  a  conspiracy  to  assassinate  General  Pershing, 
and  that  it  was  supposed  a  German  officer,  or  officers  would 
attempt  it  by  getting  into  Ligny  disguised  as  American  or 
French  or  British  officers.  This  M.  P.  evidently  felt  that  he  had 
the  potential  offender. 

But  his  confidence  was  disturbed  a  little  when  I  demanded 
that  he  take  me  at  once  to  the  American  Provost-marshal.  He 
blew  his  whistle  and  two  more  M.  P.'s  came  running  up.  After 
a  muttered  conversation,  the  two  extras  drew  their  automatics, 
and  with  one  on  each  running  board,  we  were  escorted  to  the 
office  of  the  Provost-marshal.  I  do  not  recall  the  name  of  the 
Major  who  held  this  position,  but  his  first  questions  were  put 
to  me  with  one  of  those  grisly  M.  P.'s  standing  behind  me,  and 
holding  that  cannon  in  my  direction;  the  mate  to  mine  was 
sitting  in  the  tonneau  with  his  in  close  proximity  to  Tommy's 
back. 

Of  course  I  told  a  straight  story  to  the  Provost-marshal,  even 
to  the  admission  that  I  knew  my  "pass"  was  no  good,  but  that 
under  the  conditions  I  had  done  the  best  I  could.  Finally  he 
inquired,  "Is  there  anyone  here  at  G.  H.  Q.  who  can  identify 
you?"  I  asked  for  the  names  of  some  of  the  officers,  and  among 
others  he  mentioned  a  Major  Straight  with  whom  I  had  become 
acquainted  at  Staff  College.  Writing  a  note  which  he  handed 
to  my  body-guard,  he  directed  him  to  take  me  over  to  Major 
Straight.  The  Major  recognized  me,  told  the  M.  P.  to  put  away 
his  arsenal,  gave  me  the  Ha!  Ha!  for  being  arrested,  called  the 
Provost  on  the  'phone,  and  the  affair  was  over.  I  asked  the 
M.  P.  to  go  back  and  call  off  his  pal,  for  I  had  a  feeling  that 
Tommy  wasn't  altogether  comfortable  either. 

131 


The  thirty-third  was  at  Fromerville,  a  little  village  six  kilo- 
metres out  from  Verdun.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  my  status 
was  recognized  as  0.  K.  here  at  G.  H.  Q.  the  Provost-Marshal 
said  that  officers  proceeding  under  orders,  were  not  allowed  to 
tarry  at  Ligny  at  all,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go.  Tommy 
and  I  did  not  want  to,  for  we  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since 
breakfast,  and  as  it  was  now  2:00  p.  m.  we  wanted  to  stop  long 
enough  to  get  something  to  eat;  we  didn't  though. 


The  drivers  of  cars  for  officers  had  a  varied  and  checkered 
career.  In  my  own  case  I  had  considerable  difficulty  in  having 
the  same  one  for  any  length  of  time.  Of  course  the  drivers  were 
assigned  by  the  Division  Motor  Transport  Officer  who  could 
switch  them  around  to  suit  himself,  or  in  some  cases  to  satisfy 
the  drivers  as  they  occasionally  asked  to  be  transferred  from  the 
car  of  one  officer  to  that  of  another.  Furthermore,  as  my  driving 
was  long  hours  and  generally  undesirable,  I  often  thought  that 
the  D.  M.  T.  O.  used  this  assignment  as  a  punishment  for  a 
driver  whom  he  wished  to  discipline. 

When  the  division  was  in  line  my  work  was  always  heaviest 
at  night,  while  if  the  division  was  in  line  and  was  active  it  was 
more  or  less  a  day  and  night  continuous  performance.  Also,  as 
I  was  laz}^  and  objected  to  walking  when  possible  to  ride,  my 
car  went  rather  farther  front  than  most  of  the  division  autos. 
That  was  a  trick  learned  from  Colonel  Lawton  while  with  the 
First  Division.  His  theory  was  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  as 
controller  of  traffic  and  commander  of  the  Military  Police,  to 
decide  upon  the  proper  bounds  for  auto  traffic  unless  he  went  over 
the  forward  roads  in  his  car;  if  at  a  certain  place  he  drew  Hun 
fire  that  place  should  be  out  of  bounds  for  autos— in  daylight 
at  least. 

Then  as  the  most  of  the  work  of  getting  supplies  up  front  had 
to  be  done  during  the  night,  and  as  lights  would  have  given  the 
movements  away,  all  cars  and  lorries  in  the  forward  areas  had 
to  run  with  no  lights.  It's  a  ticklish  business  to  run  an  auto  over 
a  more  or  less  unknown  road,  and  one  that  is  liable  to  change 

132 


from  an  unbroken'surface  to  a  chain  of  shell  holes  at  any  time — 
run  in  the  darkness  and  fog  and  go  twenty  or  more  miles  an  hour 
with  any  peace  of  mind.  The  drivers  of  officer's  cars  drove  by 
instinct,  ear,  guts,  and  the  grace  of  God. 

One  of  the  best  men  I  ever  had  was  a  boy  from  Texas,  a  boy 
both  skillful  and  careful,  but  who  finally  reached  the  point  where 
night  driving  and  acting  as  a  decoy  to  see  if  our  public  appearance 
would  draw  fire,  so  got  on  his  nerves  that  he  asked  for  a  transfer 
to  the  car  of  the  division  surgeon,  and  goodness  knows  that 
Colonel  Hatheway  was  more  reckless  than  I  ever  dreamed  of 
being. 

Then  there  was  another  who  was  both  cool  and  skillful. 
One  day  between  Saulx  and  Fresnes — both  villages  at  that  time 
on  our  front — we  came  to  a  creek  where  the  bridge  had  been 
destroyed,  and  where  our  engineers  had  stretched  a  couple  of 
small  I-beams  across  the  night  before,  getting  ready  to  replace 
the  bridge.  Neither  of  us  wanted  to  turn  back  for  we  had  been 
through  one  or  two  unpleasant  spots  on  our  way.  The  creek 
however  was  too  deep,  and  the  banks  too  precipitous  to  offer 
any  possibility  of  fording.  Finally  Sloan  said,  "Colonel,  if  we 
can  edge  those  beams  together  so  that  they  will  make  the  width 
of  our  track  I'll  drive  the  car  across  on  them".  So  we  got  some 
levers  from  the  wreckage  of  the  former  bridge  and  managed  to 
get  this  done.  Then  Sloan  deflated  all  his  tires,  asked  me  to 
cross  to  the  opposite  side  and  direct  him  with  a  motion  of  the 
hand  if  he  tried  to  steer  too  much  to  the  right  or  the  left,  got 
his  rims  over  the  flanges  of  the  I-beams  and  in  this  way  drove 
that  Dodge  car  across.  If  anything  had  gone  wrong  it  meant 
a  drop  of  probably  8  or  9  feet  into  the  creek  below. 

Sloan  wasn't  the  name  of  this  driver,  but  I  use  it  so  that 
another  of  his  escapades  may  be  told  here.  One  night,  without 
permission  of  course,  he  took  the  car  and  beat  it  to  a  city  in  our 
rear  where  vin  blanc  and  other  drinkables  could  be  secured,  and 
where  the  drinks  would  be  shared  with  ladies  more  or  less  fair 
to  look  upon.  He  left  the  car  outside  the  estaminet  and  while 
he  was  within  with  the  wine,  women  and  song  someone  stole  the 

133 


car.  Thinking  that  he  might  as  well  be  killed  for  a  sheep  as  for 
young  mutton  Sloan  then  went  A.  W.  O.  L.  Of  course  it  was  only 
a  question  of  time  until  he  was  picked  up  and  returned  to  the 
division.  There  was  this  in  his  favor  though;  when  he  was  brought 
back  in  arrest  he  told  the  above  story  about  losing  the  car, 
which  story  we  were  able  to  check  up  and  prove  truthful,  but 
a  military  court  took  Sloan  away  from  me  for  the  rest  of  the  war. 


134 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN- 

We  drove  into  Fromerville  that  evening  and  found  that  we 
had  beaten  the  trainload  shipped  by  rail  from  Poulainville,  but 
this  contingent  came  in  the  next  morning.  Three  days  later 
all  non-combatant  units  and  individuals  of  the  Division — the 
strictly  office  force  of  the  outfit — was  ordered  to  fall  back  to 
Lempire,  and  the  following  day  Division  headquarters  were 
advanced  to  LaHutte,  and  the  combat  units  went  up  during  the 
night  to  take  over  our  designated  sector.  Trains  and  M.  P. 
headquarters,  Signal  battalion,  and  one  Machine  Gun  battalion 
were  sent  to  Longbut  farm.  Imagine  if  you  can,  trying  to  get 
approximately  1500  men  and  45  officers  into  the  ordinary  build- 
ings of  an  ordinary  French  farm,  and  you  will  get  an  idea  of  the 
density  of  the  troops  crowded  into  line  for  the  big  kick-off  of 
September  26,  1918. 

On  top  of  the  awful  crowding  of  Americans  in  this  particular 
place  orders  came  from  French  sources  for  a  battalion  of  French 
infantry  to  crowd  in  here  with  us.  Apparently  every  inch  of 
housing  space,  farm  house,  barns,  sheds,  dugouts  and  shallow 
holes  on  the  hillsides  were  full,  but  in  came  this  battalion. 
Somewhere,  somehow  they  found  a  few  more  holes  to  get  into. 
Scarcely  had  they  come  in  when  reports  were  brought  to  me  by 
my  own  officers,  and  by  officers  of  the  124th  Machine  Gun 
Battalion  that  the  French  were  stealing  shoes  and  blankets  from 
our  men.  Now,  sometimes  an  American  soldier  will  sell,  or  trade 
an  extra  pair  of  shoes  that  have  been  issued  to  him;  or  he  may 
part  with  a  blanket — not  necessarily  his  own,  but  one  he  may 
have  borrowed  without  the  knowledge  of  its  rightful  owner. 
This  is  especially  possible  if  there  is  an  owner  in  his  squad,  or 
platoon  whom  he  dislikes,  so  that  my  first  thought  was  that 
one  of  the  above  contingencies  had  occurred,  and  that  possibly 
to  avoid  future  responsibility,  or  because  he  had  decided  that 
he  wanted  the  property  back,  the  guilty  American  soldier  was 
the  one  making  the  complaint.    But  in  two  hours  time  so  many 

135 


reports  of  the  same  kind  came  in  that  I  sent  for  the  French 
Major  commanding  this  battalion.  He  was  horrified  at  the 
thought  that  his  men  could  be  suspected  of  stealing;  weren't 
we  allies?  Didn't  the  French  nation  esteem  and  feel  magnificent 
gratitude  to  their  American  brothers?  It  was  simply  'impossib' 
that  his  men  could  have  stolen,  and  besides  the  American  soldier 
was  willing  to  sell. 

Even  while  he  was  talking  other  complaints  arrived.  One 
officer  brought  in  two  of  his  men  whom  he  said  were  entirely 
trustworthy,  and  these  men  had  actually  seen  a  couple  of 
French  soldiers  stealing  American  equipment;  had  chased  them 
and  taken  it  away  from  them.  That  was  something  tangible, 
so  I  said  to  the  Major  "I  will  draw  a  dead  line  between  such  and 
such  points.  Your  men  will  stay  on  their  side  of  the  line;  the 
Americans  will  stay  on  the  other  side,  and  there  will  be  an 
American  line  of  sentries  on  that  line  to  enforce  the  order." 

This  seemed  to  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  Major.  Then 
turning  to  my  sergeant-major  I  gave  him  an  outline  for  the  order 
for  immediate  issuance,  and  in  the  order  stated  that  the  sentries 
should  be  instructed  to  shoot  any  man  found  crossing  this  line. 
That  was  a  horse  of  another  color  so  far  as  the  Major  was 
concerned:  he  didn't  object  to  a  dead  line  but  he  didn't  want 
it  too  confoundedly  dead.  He  expostulated:  he  mentioned  com- 
plications, and  unfriendly  attitude;  he  talked  with  his  hands,  his 
shoulders,  his  face;  he  seemed  to  feel  that  if  there  was  any 
shooting  his  men  would  be  on  the  receiving  end.  Finally  he 
threatened  to  go  to  General  Bell,  and  he  was  invited  to  go  there 
real  pronto.  Rushing  to  his  side-car  he  was  whirled  away  toward 
division  headquarters.  In  a  little  while  the  telephone  rang, 
and  General  Bell  wanted  to  know  what  was  up.  He  was  told 
that  apparently  the  French  Major  had  his  wind  up,  but  that  so 
far  as  the  rest  of  us  were  concerned  we  were  enjoying  our  usual 
health;  that  the  men  on  post  were  doing  sentry — go  with  loaded 
rifles,  and  that  since  they  went  on  post  there  had  been  no  more 
lost  property.  I  don't  know  what  General  Bell  said  to  the  Major 
but  early  that  evening  the  French  battalion  went  somewhere  else. 

136 


On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-sixth  practically  all  of  the 
division  front-line  transport  was  assembled  at  Longbut.  In 
the  general  combat  order,  it  was  to  be  held  here  by  the  com- 
mander of  Trains  until  a  release  order  came  from  Division 
headquarters.  This  was  also  impressed  on  me  by  "G-I"  in 
person — not  to  allow  the  transport  to  go  forward  until  the 
Division  was  informed  of  the  advance  of  the  various  combat 
units,  until  they  had  reached  their  objectives  and  consolidated 
their  positions,  or  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  thrown  back 
in  the  attempt.  Forges  Wood,  considered  impregnable  by  the 
French,  was  in  our  immediate  front.  If  this  wood  was  not  taken, 
if  a  counter  push  was  made  by  the  Germans,  the  transport  must 
not  be  caught  in  a  backward  movement.  The  131st  infantry 
regiment  had  one  objective,  the  132nd  regiment  another;  each 
had  its  supporting  element  of  machine  gun  companies. 

About  eleven  o'clock  came  a  release  order — in  person,  by 
G-I  for  the  advance  of  the  transport  of  the  132nd  infantry. 
This  meant  that  Forges  Wood  had  been  taken.  When  G-I  gave 
me  the  release  order  I  took  out  my  notebook  and  jotted  it  down, 
with  the  time  of  receiving  it.  Nothing  was  said  about  the  131st 
transport.  This  seemed  reasonable  to  me  as  I  knew  that  the 
131st  infantry  had  farther  to  go  than  the  132nd  in  order  to  reach 
its  objective.  A  little  later,  by  telephone,  came  a  release  order, 
naming  the  different  organizations,  for  everything  except  the 
131st  transport.  About  2:00  p.  m.  G-I  drove  up  to  my  head- 
quarters again,  foaming  at  the  mouth  because  the  transport  of 
the  131st  was  still  held,  saying  that  he  had  ordered  it  released 
at  the  same  time  he  released  the  132nd;  that  it  was  now  so  late 
in  the  day  that  the  transport  could  not  get  to  the  131st  early 
enough  to  get  supplies  and  the  surplus  equipment  up  for  the 
night.  I  referred  him  to  my  notebook,  refreshed  his  memory  by 
reading  him  what  I  had  written  down,  by  recalling  to  him  that 
I  had  read  it  to  him  after  writing  it,  and  that  he  had  laughed  at 
me  and  said,  "Never  write  anything  down,  for  if  you  do  you 
will  forget  something  you  want  to  remember.' '  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  someone  had  blundered,  someone  had  forgotten  some- 
thing, and  that  it  was  proposed  that  I  should  be  the  goat.   There 

137 


were  a  few  hot  words  between  us,  and  with  the  remark,  "You 
will  have  to  answer  to  General  Bell  for  this,"  G-I  rode  away. 
General  Bell  never  mentioned  the  matter  to  me. 

Life  in  the  Meuse-Argonne  was  a  very  hectic  thing  from 
September  26  to  about  October  15,  as  fighting  went  on  more  or 
less  uninterruptedly  all  the  time;  roads  there  were  none;  supplies 
had  to  be  taken  up;  wounded  had  to  be  brought  back;  on  Septem- 
ber 27  a  group  of  wounded,  twenty-nine  of  them,  were  carried 
over  two  miles  on  stretchers  by  German  prisoners.  They  had 
lain  out  all  night  with  only  first-aid  dressings,  but  it  was  remarked 
how  much  better  they  did  than  those  who  were  considered  for- 
tunate at  the  time,  in  being  sent  out  by  ambulance  or  motor 
truck  to  the  hospitals  in  the  rear.  At  Malancourt  on  the  28th 
of  September  I  saw  truck  load  after  truck  load  of  wounded 
being  taken  to  the  rear  in  motor  trucks.  Malancourt  was  outside 
of  our  sector  but  because  this  particular  road  was  better  than 
some  others,  and  because  it  was  not  so  heavily  burdened  with 
troops  and  supplies,  it  was  being  used  to  get  out  these  wounded 
from  the  Thirty-third,  the  Eightieth,  and  the  Fourth  Divisions. 

The  method  of  transporting  wounded  by  motor  truck  was  to 
place  three  men  side  by  side  on  the  floor  of  the  truck,  and  cross- 
wise of  the  body  of  the  truck  as  many  stretcher  cases  were  placed 
as  the  space  would  hold.  Then  this  truck  would  swing  and  slip, 
bump  and  jerk  its  way  over  the  roads,  cut  up,  shell  torn,  stony 
in  places,  never  good,  to  the  Division  hospital,  three,  six  or  eight 
kilometres  to  the  rear.  It  is  no  wonder  the  wounded  died;  it  is 
no  wonder  that  the  men  who  lay  out  all  night,  and  who  were 
carried  on  stretchers  those  bad  first  miles  did  better  than  the 
truck-transported  cases. 

Historical  writers,  men  acting  as  real  historians  will  tell  of 
the  horrors  of  the  Meuse-Argonne;  of  the  deeds  the  American 
soldiers  did  there;  of  the  effect  on  civilization.  It  is  my  place  and 
purpose  to  tell  the  lesser  events,  and  to  carry  on  a  more  or  less 
personal  narrative,  leaving  the  larger  matters  for  those  abler 
than  I  to  describe. 

It  may  be  mentioned  that  from  September  26  to  October  15 
the  Division  captured  nearly  3600  Germans  and  Austrians.    As 

138 


Division  Provost-marshal  all  these  had  to  pass  through  my  hands. 
In  this  connection,  one  event  which  called  down  on  my  head  the 
wrath  of  General  Bell  may  be  cited.  The  area  was  so  large,  and 
the  calls  for  military  police  for  traffic  work,  for  a  straggler  line, 
and  for  prisoner  guards — both  at  the  prison  cage,  and  when  on 
the  road  going  back  to  our  cage,  or  when  continuing  back  to 
Corps  cage — kept  me  short  of  officers  and  men  all  the  time. 
Major  Hart  had  broken  down.  Regulations  had  reduced  us  to 
one  company  of  military  police,  meaning  now  only  one  hundred 
and  fifty  men,  and  work  in  every  line  had  quadrupled.  Just  in 
the  dusk  of  evening  seventy-six  more  prisoners  were  brought  to 
the  collecting  point;  they  must  be  taken  back  to  the  cage  at 
Longbut  for  the  night.  At  night  too,  the  traffic  work  was  always 
heaviest;  the  military  police  had  to  handle  this  traffic  which 
otherwise  would  jam,  stick,  congest  and  block  our  one  road; 
someone  had  to  keep  this  two  miles  of  mud  and  shell  holes  open 
all  the  time;  every  transport  officer  wanted  to  get  his  supplies 
from  the  dump  first,  and  they  all  must  get  back  before  daylight. 
With  these  traffic  conditions  present,  and  with  night  already  upon 
us,  I  was  put  to  it  to  find  an  escort  for  these  seventy-six  prisoners. 
There  was  a  big,  hard-faced  corporal  in  the  M.  P.  company 
named  Spink.  Calling  him,  I  directed  him  to  select  one  other 
man,  and  with  one  riding  in  front  of  the  column  and  the  other 
in  the  rear,  to  take  these  prisoners  back  to  the  division  cage — 
about  six  kilometres.  I  had  receipted  to  the  regiment  bringing 
them  in,  the  corporal  would  receipt  to  me,  and  he  in  turn  would 
be  released  of  responsibility  by  the  Non-commissioned  officer  on 
duty  at  the  cage.  But  even  though  the  corporal  receipted  to  me, 
if  he  didn't  deliver  seventy-six  prisoners  at  the  cage,  it  would 
be  my  funeral,  not  his. 

Spink  spoke  German,  and  before  starting  out  he  addressed 
those  Huns  in  simple  and  direct  language,  telling  them  that  he 
would  just  as  leave  arrive  at  prison  cage  with  sixty  men  as  with 
seventy-six,  but  that  if  he  did  it  would  be  because  there  would 
be  sixteen  dead  Boches  along  the  road;  that  they  would  march 
in  a  column  of  twos,  and  that  any  man  stepping  outside  of  the 
line  of  file,  would  be  shot  first  and  questioned  after.  And  on 
that  long  dark  march  Spink  did  not  lose  a  man. 

139 


But  someone  passed  the  occurrence  on  to  General  Bell,  who 
certainly  ripped  it  into  me  for  taking  such  chances  with  prisoners. 
At  the  same  time,  I  had  no  resentment  toward  General  Bell  for 
this  little  "strafe"  of  his.  Under  the  stress  and  strain  which 
existed  for  all  of  us  at  this  time,  everyone  took  occasion  to 
blow  off  steam  once  in  awhile  on  someone  else,  for  some  com- 
paratively trivial  offense.  It  was  a  different  matter  though  if 
the  offense  was  one  of  moment;  then  the  "strafe"  was  not  so  much 
in  evidence,  but  the  penalty  was  quick  and  conclusive. 


War  always  accentuates  the  truism  that  there  is  a  difference 
in  individuals,  and  that  the  conception  of  gratitude  one  man 
may  have  differs  vastly  from  that  of  another.  Driver  Stone  and 
1  had  been  up  front — farther  front  in  fact  than  cars  were  sup- 
posed to  go.  In  returning  we  had  to  traverse  that  hillside  road 
in  front  of  Dead  Man's  Hill  where  the  observation  was  splendid 
for  the  Hun.  We  had  stopped  in  the  ruined  village  of  Forges  to 
get  our  breakfast  from  a  detail  of  M.  P.  I  had  there — a  detail 
with  the  double  duty  of  maintaining  a  straggler  line  and 
as  acting  guard  for  the  collecting  point  for  prisoners.  I  had  a 
second  lieutenant  in  charge  of  this  detail,  a  little  Irishman  I  had 
taken  quite  a  fancy  to  because  he  impressed  me  as  having  good 
stuff  in  him,  and  perhaps  I  had  even  been  a  little  partial  to  him. 

By  the  time  breakfast  was  over  it  was  broad  daylight  and  still 
there  was  that  strip  of  open  road  to  cover.  This  strip  of  road, 
by  the  way,  was  clearly  in  view,  and  not  five  hundred  yards 
away  from  the  dugout  where  my  M.  P.  detail  in  Forges  lived. 

Thanking  the  lieutenant  for  our  breakfast  Stone  and  I  started 
out.  One  couldn't  make  much  speed  over  that  so-called  road, 
but  as  we  approached  the  stretch  which  might  invite  the  kind 
attention  of  the  German  77s,  I  told  Stone  to  step  on  the  gas  and 
have  the  uncertainty  over  as  soon  as  possible.  But  they  saw 
us  and  opened  fire,  and  they  didn't  need  any  ranging  shots 
either.  There  was  a  slight  bank  of  earth  on  the  side  toward  the 
Hun  which  would  offer  partial  protection  to  the  car,  so  I  told 
Stone  to  pull  up  against  this  bank  and  we  would  take  to  one  of 

140 


the  old  trenches  until  Fritz  got  tired.  Out  we  piled  and  into  a 
trench,  and  in  almost  no  time  Fritz  planted  one  sufficiently 
close  to  the  car  to  riddle  it. 

The  men  over  in  Forges  were  watching  proceedings,  and 
when  they  saw  the  car  tilt  as  it  went  into  the  ditch,  and  then  a 
few  moments  later  get  the  full  benefit  of  a  close  one ;  and  as  they 
had  not  seen  us  take  to  the  trench,  they  called  the  lieutenant, 
told  him  of  the  occurrence,  and  my  little  Irishman  coolly  re- 
marked, "Well,  there  is  one  Colonel  less,"  nor  did  he  send  any- 
body over  there  to  see  if  by  chance  Stone  or  the  colonel  might 
still  be  gasping. 

The  opposite  may  be  shown  b}^  another  story.  Captain  Ehart 
and  I  were  looking  for  the  transport  of  the  123rd  Machine  Gun 
Battalion;  I  was  inspecting  transport  that  day.  We  knew  it 
was  somewhere  near  Les  Esparges,  so  we  went  to  that  ruined 
village  with  the  car,  but  being  farther  front  again  than  cars  were 
supposed  to  be,  we  left  the  car  and  the  driver  in  the  shadow  of 
the  ruined  church  in  the  village,  and  went  ahead  on  foot.  After 
rambling  through  two  or  three  bits  of  woods,  and  up  and  down 
two  or  three  ravines — for  we  knew  the  transport  would  be  hidden 
in  some  such  place — and  finding  no  clue,  we  decided  to  cross  a 
treeless  valley  and  look  among  the  wooded  hills  on  the  other 
side.  We  were  perhaps  one  third  the  way  across  when  through  a 
saddle  in  the  hills  in  front  there  began  to  come  some  shells,  and 
they  were  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  German  lines.  Now, 
it  wasn't  real  battery  fire;  it  seemed  more  like  one  isolated  77 
doing  a  little  exercise  on  its  own,  and  we  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  the  first  two  or  three  shells;  neither  one  of  us  was 
sufficiently  conceited  to  think  that  we  were  attracting  that 
fire,  so  we  kept  sauntering  along. 

About  that  time  too,  we  heard  some  frantic  hallooing  to  our 
left  rear.  At  first  we  couldn't  see  anyone  in  the  fringe  of  trees 
on  that  side  of  the  valley,  but  when  a  shell  came  unpleasantly 
near  us,  and  we  looked  again  toward  the  friendly  cry  we  saw 
an  olive  drab  uniform  slip  out  for  a  moment  from  his  place  of 
concealment  and  beckon  to  us.    We  went.    It  was  an  officer  of 

141 


the  battalion  for  which  we  were  looking,  and  while  the  transport 
was  considerably  to  the  rear  of  where  he  showed  himself,  the 
battalion  had  an  outpost  with  one  gun  at  the  point  in  the  woods 
where  he  caught  our  attention. 

Of  course  all  this  had  taken  time,  and  the  inspection  of  that 
transport  took  more,  the  result  being  that  by  the  time  we 
started  back  to  the  ruined  village,  the  old  church,  and  the  car, 
it  was  well  after  sundown.  We  had  been  gone  probably  three 
hours. 

The  driver  of  the  car  met  us  as  we  returned;  he  had  watched 
us  disappear  in  the  distance;  he  had  seen  us  emerge  in  the  open 
valley,  for  Les  Esparges  was  at  one  end  of  this  valley;  he  had 
seen  the  shells  coming  into  the  valley,  but  he  had  not  seen  us 
hastily  depart  from  the  valley  when  signaled  by  the  machine 
gun  officer,  and  his  deduction  was  that  the  shells  had  got  us. 
He  waited  what  seemed  ages  to  him;  he  said  he  debated  with 
himself  the  right  thing  to  do;  should  he  go  back  to  the  nearest 
headquarters  and  report  our  being  hit?  Should  be  stay  where 
we  had  told  him  to  stay  until  some  one  came  along  and  make 
report  to  that  someone?  Or  should  he  leave  the  car  and  go  hunt 
for  our  mangled  remains?  And  he  finally  decided  his  duty  was 
to  go  and  find  his  passengers  and  bring  them  back  dead  or  alive. 
The  poor  chap  was  so  wrought  up  that  he  almost  broke  down 
and  cried  when  we  met  him,  and  as  he  told  how  worried  and 
anxious  he  had  been. 

About  the  29th  or  30th  of  September  it  was  seen  necessary 
to  crowd  another  American  division  in  on  our  right.  The  French 
line  on  our  right  did  not  seem  able  to  go  forward  sufficiently  to 
cover  our  right  flank,  and  too,  the  distant  objective  of  the 
Thirty-third  was  such  that  with  the  point  of  our  crossing  the 
Meuse  as  the  apex,  the  sides  of  the  inverted  pyramid  between 
the  right  of  the  Thirty-third  and  the  left  of  the  French  line, 
would  widen  more  and  more  as  the  troops  advanced,  consequently 
another  American  division  was  ordered  to  squeeze  itself  into 
the  slowly  widening  opening.  This  meant  that  the  one  road  we 
had  leading  to  the  front  would  be  used,  temporarily  at  least, 

142 


by  the  incoming  Division,  and  would  cause  still  greater  con- 
gestion and  trouble. 

An  infantry  brigade  of  the  incoming  division,  with  its  front- 
line transport,  came  up  over  our  road  by  daylight.  This  was  all 
right  up  to  a  certain  point,  for  up  to  this  point  they  were  hidden 
from  observation,  other  than  balloon  or  airplane;  I  have  never 
been  able  to  ascertain  whether  this  daylight  move  was  an 
authorized  one,  so  far  as  the  daylight  is  concerned,  or  not; 
certainly  if  it  was,  it  was  an  unusual  permission.  When  they 
had  reached  the  forward  limit  of  travel  by  daylight,  and  were 
waiting  for  darkness  to  allow  them  to  complete  their  going  into 
position,  they  were  content  to  stay  on  the  road,  effectually 
closing  it  even  for  runners.  So  here  they  were,  at  11:00  a.  m., 
just  past  the  village  of  Cumieres,  and  under  cover  of  the  last 
hill.  Captain  Troxell  was  on  traffic  duty  that  day,  but  his 
expostulations  and  requests  got  no  results;  a  Brigadier  General 
was  in  command  of  that  brigade,  and  the  requests  of  an  M.  P. 
captain  meant  nothing  to  him. 

I  had  gone  to  my  billet  at  sunrise  to  get  some  sleep.  The 
telephone  rang,  and  our  G-I  announced  that  the  road  was 
blocked,  that  he  wanted  to  send  supplies  and  engineer  material 
up  to  that  very  point  under  that  hill  where  the  brigade  of  the 
new  division  was  lying,  and  what  did  I  mean  by  allowing  that 
road  to  become  jammed,  and  why  wasn't  I  on  the  job,  and 
dash,  and  double  dash  it,  etc.  He  had  no  sooner  rung  off  than 
Captain  Troxell  called  me  saying  that  he  could  do  nothing  with 
the  outfit,  that  the  brigadier  general  would  not  listen  to  him, 
and  what  could  he  do?  So  into  the  Dodge  I  jumped  and  beat  it 
back  to  the  stamping  ground  where  I  had  been  spending  all  my 
nights  and  most  of  my  days  as  well.  The  road  jam  was  there 
all  right ;  to  show  their  indifference  to  any  needs  other  than  their 
own,  this  brigade  had,  under  order  from  the  brigadier  general, 
even  set  up  their  kitchens  in  the  roadway  and  were  getting  ready 
to  give  their  men  a  hot  meal.  After  passing  on  to  Captain 
Troxell  some  of  the  trimming  G-I  had  handed  to  me  for  not 
enforcing  Division  orders  about  keeping  that  road  open,  even 
if  such  enforcement  meant  putting  a  brigadier  general  in  arrest, 

143 


I  sent  him  back  to  handle  the  prison  cage  while  I  stayed  up  front. 
Then  taking  Lieutenant  Ingrahm — an  M.  P.  officer — with  me 
as  a  witness,  I  hunted  up  that  general.  He  was  very  affable  until 
he  found  out  what  I  was  after,  and  on  finding  out  tried  to  dodge 
the  responsibility  by  saying,  "But  that  transport  isn't  all  mine; 
I  have  but  one  kitchen  and  two  trucks  in  the  whole  column." 
In  as  respectful  a  manner  as  possible  I  told  him  that  I  was  not 
inferring  that  all  the  transport  in  the  column  was  his  individual 
property,  but  that  I  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  in  command 
of  the  brigade,  and  if  so  it  was  his  transport;  that  its  halting 
on  the  road  was  contrary  to  orders,  and  that  the  present  situation 
would  have  to  be  changed  immediately.  He  inquired,  "con- 
trary to  whose  orders?"  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  contrary  to 
orders  of  G.  H.  Q.  as  well  as  of  the  Division,  but  his  question 
rubbed  me  the  wrong  way,  so  I  said,  "My  orders."  He  looked  at 
me  in  amazement  for  a  moment,  and  then  sneeringly  replied, 
"I  guess  my  orders  are  as  good  as  yours  under  the  circumstances." 
And  that  was  the  last  straw.  "This  road  will  be  cleared  in  twenty 
minutes  or  I  will  put  every  wagon  and  truck  you  have  into  the 
ditch."  That  was  considerable  of  a  mouthful,  considering  that 
he  had  a  brigade  of  infantry,  and  all  I  had  was  twenty-four 
military  police  there  just  then.  He  declared  that  he  would  put 
me  in  arrest,  and  I  begged  him  to  do  so,  for  "General  Pershing 
will  be  glad  to  hear  that  a  brigade  commander  is  arresting  his 
special  traffic  officers  who  are  carrying  out  his  special  orders." 
That  bluff  got  home,  and  in  about  half  an  hour  the  road  was 
clear.  The  general  filed  complaint  with  General  Bell,  but  as 
I  had  seen  General  Bell  first  and  told  him  the  story,  all  the 
satisfaction  the  brigade  commander  got  was,  "better  keep  off 
Colonel  Center;  he  was  acting  under  orders." 

Life  on  the  Meuse-Argonne  was  life  in  the  darkness  except 
those  times  when  the  troops  were  actually  fighting  their  way 
forward.  All  other  movements,  of  all  kinds,  had  to  be  at  night 
in  order  to  reduce  to  a  minimum  the  losses  from  shell  fire. 
About  October  2nd  or  3rd  "G-I"  decided  that  he  could  send 
materials  to  the  front  during  daylight.  He  was  told  by  several 
officers  who  were  familiar  with  our  road  conditions  and  with  the 

144 


fact  that  in  places  there  was  direct  observation  from  the  Hun 
lines,  that  the  thing  was  merely  an  incentive  to  the  German  to 
damage  us,  and  that  it  could  not  be  accomplished,  but  he  in- 
sisted that  the  Hun  was  so  shaken-up  by  the  events  of  the  past 
few  days,  that  a  few  motor  trucks  would  not  mean  anything  to 
him  even  if  they  were  observed,  so  he  ordered  five  trucks,  with 
supplies  and  such  special  comforts  as  candy,  cigarettes,  and  the 
various  package  goods  of  dainties  that  the  men  were  always  glad 
to  get,  to  go  that  afternoon.  Knowing  of  this  intention,  and 
feeling  confident  as  to  the  outcome,  I  was  up  forward;  I  was 
giving  big  odds  that  the  Hun  was  going  to  give  us  his  undivided 
attention  for  awhile. 

Two  trucks,  with  an  interval  of  about  200  yards,  went  first. 
These  passed  the  first  point  of  observation  unchallenged, 
crossed  Forges  creek,  passed  the  ruined  village  of  Forges,  and 
as  the  leading  one  emerged  from  the  village  it  came  again  under 
direct  observation.  The  Hun  opened  fire,  and  promptly  put  it 
out  of  business.  The  second,  because  of  its  interval,  had  not 
come  under  observation,  and  the  driver  was  sensible  enough  to 
stay  where  he  was.  At  this  time  the  other  three  trucks  were 
passing  the  hill-side  point  half  a  mile  to  the  rear,  where  the  other 
point  of  observation  was.  They  were  seen,  and  drew  battery 
fire  at  once.  One  shell  landed  in  the  middle  of  the  road  between 
trucks  two  and  three,  making  a  hole  as  big  as  the  road  was  wide. 
The  driver  of  the  lead  truck  got  excited,  or  acted  with  purpose 
perhaps,  and  his  truck  ran  off  the  road  sinking  to  its  axles  in 
the  ditch,  and  truck  number  two  had  its  front  torn  off  by  a 
shell.    That  road  was  fairly  effectively  blocked. 

At  this  time  one  of  the  many  humorous  things  of  war  hap- 
pened. There  was  a  company  of  our  engineers  stationed  on  the 
other — or  safe — side  of  this  hill  for  the  very  purpose  of  keeping 
this  road  in  travelable  condition.  Sending  a  runner  back  for 
them,  I  stood  near  that  big  hole  in  the  road  talking  to  Captain 
Troxell,  telling  him  to  send  a  runner  over  past  Forges  to  ascertain 
whether  the  two  trucks  over  there  were  still  in  running  condition. 
On  my  right  as  I  stood,  was  a  clay  bank  probably  six  feet  high; 
the  German  fire  was  coming  from  that  side.    On  the  other  side 

145 


of  the  road  there  was  no  bank.  The  shelling  was  going  merrily 
on;  to  the  rear  the  company  of  engineers  was  coming  down  the 
road;  so  was  Major  Haines  who  commanded  the  Supply  Train 
and  who,  like  myself,  expected  to  see  his  precious  trucks  put 
out  of  commission.    All  this  is  fresh  in  my  mind. 

As  Troxell  and  I  stood  there  we  were  both  conscious  that  a 
shell  sounded  "your  vicinity."  Then  as  it  exploded  just  beyond 
the  far  side  of  the  road,  we  were  both  conscious  that  something 
passed  between  our  faces  and  plumped  into  the  clay  bank  beside 
us;  it  sounded  as  I  imagine  a  soup  plate  would  have  sounded 
if  it  had  been  thrown  against  that  wet  clay.  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  sentence;  how  long  the  interruption  of  conversation  lasted 
can  be  left  to  your  imagination;  just  when  Captain  Troxell 
left  me  I  don't  know,  but  when  I  resumed  what  I  had  to  say  he 
wasn't  there,  and  my  first  glimpse  of  him  was  seeing  him  thrust 
both  hands  before  him  as  if  he  were  diving  into  water,  seeing 
him  leave  the  ground  with  both  feet  and  dive  under  truck  number 
two,  which  was  probably  sixty  feet  from  where  we  had  been 
standing.  Knowing  that  those  trucks  were  the  target  for  Fritz, 
and  seeing  that  voluntary  header  into  the  mud  under  the  target 
struck  me  as  being  extremely  funny.  And  the  action  was  wholly 
sub-conscious  on  the  part  of  Captain  Troxell. 

One  day  I  did  a  thing  just  as  ridiculous.  I  was  caught  in  a 
burst  of  shell  fire.  There  was  no  ditch  or  trench  to  get  into,  but 
lying  on  the  ground  quite  near  me  was  a  bit  of  old  camouflage 
material — a  bit  of  burlap  as  I  now  recall  it.  With  a  short  run 
and  a  dive  I  landed  on  this  bit  of  stuff,  and  lay  there  feeling 
perfectly  secure  until  I  had  time  to  think  of  the  absurdity  of 
the  thing. 

Still  another  time,  one  when  I  had  gone  as  far  forward  in  the 
Dodge  as  cars  were  allowed  to  go,  and  had  left  it  to  go  on  on 
foot.  I  had  also  gone  on  and  forgotten  my  steel  helmet,  leaving 
it  in  the  car.  After  a  chat  with  Colonel  Smith  of  the  52nd 
Brigade,  Field  Artillery,  whose  command  lay  in  my  route  of 
march — I  had  gone  but  little  farther  when  Fritz  began  to  send 
some  over,  evidently  reaching  for  the  batteries  I  had  just  left. 
It  was  then  that  I  missed  that  tin  pot,  and  as  Fritz  was  a  little 

146 


short  of  those  batteries,  and  as  I  was  a  little  in  front  of  those 
batteries,  I  had  that  lonesome  feeling  which  comes  when  you 
feel  that  you  are  the  target.  I  curled  up  in  a  ditch  to  wait  for 
the  fire  to  slacken,  or  to  lift,  and  all  I  could  think  of  was  that 
wretched  bit  of  steel  head-cover  which  I  didn't  have;  it  seemed 
to  me  that  if  it  was  only  there  that  I  could  shrink,  and  shrink 
until  I  could  get  my  whole  body  under  it. 


Extracts  from  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Esther  Montgomery  Carrott, 
date  October  10,  1918. 

— Yesterday  a  plane  flew  over  our  front  lines  dropping  yester- 
day's paper.  Ordinarily,  if  we  get  a  paper  at  all  it  is  one  or  two 
days  old,  but  yesterday  we  had  the  paper  of  the  day  which  told 
of  the  request  for  peace  from  some  of  the  Central  powers.  Now, 
an  army  is  generally  supposed  to  be  a  blood-thirsty  aggregation, 
whose  natural  occupation  is  war,  and  whose  chief  loathing  is 
peace.  If  there  is  any  such  individual  still  extant,  please  send 
him  over  here  to  hear  and  see  the  expressions  and  the  demon- 
strations that  rise  when  it  looks  as  if  this  war  may  be  nearly 
over.  The  last  few  days  have  been  rather  lurid  ones  for  the 
division.  There  has  been  but  little  rest  by  day  or  by  night,  but 
last  night  the  feeling,  so  general,  of  weariness  and  exhaustion 
was  amelioriated  because  of  the  news.  Every  one  seemed  to 
feel,  "this  is  the  home  stretch;  we  can  rest  when  the  war  is  over." 

It  is  a  marvel  to  me  how  some  of  the  men  keep  going.  We 
find  men  sound  asleep  driving  four  horse  teams;  we  find  them 
sound  asleep  sitting  in  the  saddle;  we  find  them  "standing  to" 
on  the  fire  step  of  the  trench,  standing  up  and  sound  asleep.  In 
a  way,  this  tremendous  physical  weariness  is  a  good  thing. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  about  half  the  fighting  isn't  done  with 
the  men  at  least  half  asleep.  The  imagination  is  less  active;  one 
does  not  visualize  so  clearly  the  many  things  that  may  happen, 
and  one  loses  the  feeling  of  apprehension,  or  dread  of  injury 
which  is  more  or  less  present  when  one  is  rested  and  fresh. 
Tired  men  rarely  look  up  to  see  if  the  whining  or  swishing  shells 
are  coming  towards  them;  rested  men  nearly  always  do.    Not 

147 


that  you  can  see  the  darn  things,  but  it  is  instinct  to  look  up 
and  try  to  see  them. 

It  is  remarkable  too,  how  small  one  can  become  under  certain 
conditions.  A  few  days  ago,  I  happened  to  get  caught  without 
my  steel  helmet  in  some  pretty  brisk  shell  fire.  Except  for  shrap- 
nel a  steel  helmet  isn't  much  good — and  this  was  high  explosive. 
If  there  is  a  chance,  one  never  has  to  be  told  what  to  do  in  shell 
fire — one  does  it  without  thinking.  If  there  is  a  hole,  or  a  ditch, 
or  a  depression  one  gets  into  it;  if  there  isn't  anything  of  the 
kind,  one  lies  flat  on  his  face  and  hopes  that  a  shell  will  not  drop 
closer  than  about  fifteen  yards.  It  happened  that  there  was  no 
shell  hole  or  decent  depression,  so  I  had  to  be  content  with  flat 
ground,  and  I  know  you  could  have  run  a  baby  buggy,  with  a 
sick  baby  in  it,  over  me  as  I  lay  there,  and  the  hump  I  made  on 
the  ground  wouldn't  have  jarred  the  baby  enough  to  waken  him. 
And  I  lay  there  and  yearned  for  that  steel  helmet,  and  convinced 
myself  that  if  it  were  at  hand  I  could  crawl,  and  ooze  my  whole 
body  under  it. 

Joe  Ehart  had  a  hunch  the  other  day;  he  was  under  shell 
fire,  and  was  in  a  nice  comfortable  old  shell  hole,  but  his  hunch 
said  "go  to  another,"  so  Joe  climbed  out,  took  a  one  way  ticket 
on  the  lightning  express,  and  departed  for  an  adjacent  hole. 
Just  as  he  slithered  and  slid  down  into  his  new  residence  a  shell 
dropped  squarely  into  hole  he  had  just  vacated.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  "there  are  more  wonders  in  the  world  than  thy 
philosophy  ever  dreamed  of,  Horatio."  But  the  whole  business 
is  a  sordid  one.  There  is  no  romance,  no  poesy,  no  glamor  about 
any  of  it.  The  only  poetry,  or  sentiment  must  be  within  the 
heart  of  each  individual — a  spark  at  least  of  something  bigger 
than  the  things  of  every  day  life,  sweeter  and  more  precious  than 
comfort  or  safety,  or  than  life  itself  for  these  men  who  plod, 
plod,  plod,  keeping  it  up  by  night  and  day,  going  here  and  going 
there  without  knowing  where  or  why,  not  knowing  today 
whether  they  will  be  among  the  living  tomorrow,  sleeping,  eating, 
living,  dying  in  the  wet  and  the  mud,  these  enlisted  men,  these 
Spartans,  these  unknown  heroes  could  not  go  on  as  they  do. 
The   officer  has  a  little   consolation   in   knowing  some   of  the 

148 


reasons  Why;  the  enlisted  man  has  to  go  it  blind.  It  must  be 
said  to  the  credit  of  the  officer  that  the  enlisted  man  would  not 
go  it  blind  were  it  not  that  he  has  confidence  in  the  officers. 
They  realize  that  "Theirs  not  reason  why,  theirs  but  to  do  and 
die/'  and  with  the  almost  general  confidence  that  is  reposed 
in  the  officers  they  expect  to  be  able  to  "do,"  and  not  to  be  led 
into  a  trap  to  "die."  I'm  ready,  today,  to  see  the  war  end,  but 
with  all  the  sordidness,  with  all  the  discomfort,  with  all  the 
weariness  and  the  sights  that  tear  the  stoutest  heart,  it  is,  and 
will  be,  a  glorious  memory.  From  this  time  on  there  should  be 
no  question  regarding  a  national  anthem  for  the  United  States. 
The  "Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic"  is  our  national  anthem, 
not  because  any  grave  and  (perhaps)  reverend  solons  have  so 
decreed,  but  because  the  living,  breathing,  fighting  and  dying 
men  from  every  state  in  the  Union  now  here  on  foreign  soil, 
have  made  it  so  by  living  it,  and  by  upholding  its  sentiments, 
and  by  giving  their  lives  for  its  doctrines.  In  the  '60s  it  had  a 
limited  and  local  application;  now  it  applies  to  every  nation 
and  every  individual  in  the  world.  My  heart  goes  out  in  sym- 
pathy, and  joins  in  sorrow  because  of  the  death  of  Joseph 
Emery.  He,  like  one  and  a  half  million  other  vivid  and  virile 
Americans  over  here,  carried  with  him  all  the  time  the  sentiment, 
"As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  them  free." 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  the  words,  "Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  a  friend,"  are  as 
comprehensive  as  the  deeds  of  such  as  Joseph  Emery.  Speaking 
narrowly,  Joe  did  not  lay  down  his  life  for  a  friend;  be  did  a 
harder  task;  he  died  for  a  great  principle;  for  many  generations 
yet  unborn;  for  a  multitude  of  people  entirely  unknown  to  him. 
It  is  a  pity  the  inmost  thoughts  of  those  who  do  great  deeds 
cannot  be  known,  for  if  in  their  sorrow,  Joe's  family  could 
know  his,  they  would  feel  that  he  had  given  them  such  a  heritage, 
such  a  lustre,  such  a  glorious  adequateness  for  the  love  and  care 
they  had  given  him,  that  their  grief  would  be  illumined  with 
wonder,  with  thankfullness,  with  joy  that  one  of  them  went, 
unafraid,  to  die  to  make  men  free.  War  is  an  awful  thing,  but 
this  world  cannot  but  be  a  sweeter,  cleaner  place,  a  world  with 
higher  ideals,  a  world  with  less  sham  and  pretense,  a  world 
with  more  brotherhood  in  it  as  a  result  of  this  war. 

149 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

It  is  not  likely  that  many  men  in  the  world  war  saw  much  of 
the  purely  spectacular,  or  of  the  glamorous;  it  simply  was  not 
there  to  be  seen.  The  war  was  not  of  a  character  where  more 
than  a  small  bit  here  and  there  could  be  seen.  The  trenches,  the 
mud,  the  rain — not  only  from  the  sky,  but  the  rain  of  shells  and 
machine  gun  bullets — made  the  need  imperative  for  being  under 
cover  nearly  all  the  time,  and  took  away  most  of  the  chance 
for  a  famous  charge,  or  for  an  open  movement  of  sufficiently 
large  magnitude,  and  sufficiently  concentrated  to  make  a  showy 
picture.  The  movement  of  September  26,  with  the  greatest 
artillery  action  the  world  has  ever  known,  with  a  battle  line 
many  miles  in  length,  a  line  going  forward  almost  as  one  com- 
pany, gave  but  little  that  could  be  of  use  to  the  artist  or  the 
camera  man.  In  the  first  place  the  fog  was  so  dense  that  the  men 
had  to  use  particular  care  not  to  become  separated;  in  the  next 
place,  the  kick-off  was  at  six  a.  m. — too  early  for  anything  in  the 
way  of  sunlight.  But  on  October  10th  there  was  a  spectacle  just 
east  of  the  Meuse  which  was  at  once  worth  seeing,  and  which  in 
the  bright  sunlight  of  the  morning,  could  be  seen.  Again,  in  a 
sense,  it  was  a  little  thing,  for  so  far  as  the  Thirty-third  was 
concerned,  it  represented  a  movement  of  less  than  5000  infantry- 
men. Orders  were  to  attack  the  heights  to  the  east  and  north  of 
Brabant,  and  to  take  Consenvoye  Woods.  The  little  ruined 
village  of  Forges  lies  about  one  half  a  kilometre  west  of  the 
river,  and  about  midway  between  Brabant  and  Consenvoye, 
both  of  which  are  on  the  river,  but  on  the  opposite  side.  From 
the  river  to  the  east  the  terrain  rises  gradually  a  distance  of 
probably  two  and  a  half  kilometres,  gently  rolling  swells,  each 
rising  higher  than  the  one  next  the  river,  steadily  pushing  up 
until  there  was  a  high,  well-defined  unobstructed  skyline.  The 
troop  movement  started  from  the  vicinity  of  Brabant-Consen- 
voye.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  in  the  village  of  Forges, 
where  from  the  top  of  a  reinforced  concrete  "pill-box"  of  German 
construction,  I  could  overlook  the  river,  the  distant  heights,  and 

150 


the  intervening  open  land.     Our  troops  went  forward  in  three 
waves  following  the  rolling  barrage. 

Almost  at  the  beginning  of  the  advance  the  Germans  could 
be  seen  piling  out  of  the  trenches  and  coming  forward  with  up- 
lifted hands.  Shells  of  every  description  fell  within,  behind,  ahead 
of  the  advancing  lines,  while  circling  about  from  one  end  of  our 
line  to  the  other  soared  one  of  our  'planes  observing  the  dropping 
of  the  fire  of  our  artillery,  and  wirelessing  directions  to  our 
men  behind  the  guns  in  the  rear.  Slowly  and  steadily  the  lines 
advanced,  now  shut  off  from  view  for  a  moment  by  the  smoke 
of  bursting  shells,  and  then  coming  into  vision  again  as  the  fresh 
breeze  cleared  the  air. 

On  Consenvoye  side  the  wood  was  approached  at  its  apex 
of  the  triangle  of  trees.  As  the  lines  reached  the  apex,  a  squad 
here  and  a  squad  there  passed  along  the  side  of  the  woods  to  its 
appointed  distance,  and  then  would  melt  into  the  forest.  From 
here  also,  from  time  to  time  could  be  seen  groups  of  prisoners 
emerging  under  guard  of  one  or  two  of  our  men. 

On  the  Brabant  side  the  lines  maintaining  their  respective 
distances,  could  be  watched  going  up  and  up  the  slopes,  wave 
by  wave  appearing  on  the  skyline  for  an  instant,  then  disappear 
down  the  receding  slope,  while  overhead  was  the  constant  whine 
and  shriek  of  our  shells  carrying  encouragement  to  our  men. 
It  was  a  sight  that  can  never  be  forgotten,  and  more  nearly 
approached  the  glamor,  the  spectacular,  and  the  romance  of 
war  as  we  once  conceived  it,  than  anything  I  saw  in  France. 


Unless  one  has  seen  one  of  the  completely  destroyed  villages 
in  the  war-worn  and  war-torn  areas  of  France,  one  cannot  even 
picture  what  a  completely  ruined  town  looks  like.  Of  course 
there  are  degrees  of  destruction.  Many  towns  have  been  de- 
stroyed so  far  as  any  use  or  activity  is  concerned,  and  yet  there 
may  be  some  walls  standing,  some  roofs  remaining,  and  some 
dwellings  that  are  inhabitable.  But  a  town  completely  destroyed 
means  a  town  non  est;  a  town  which  is  a  name  only;  one  where 
you  must  have  the  site  of  the  town  pointed  out  to  you,  shown  to 

151 


you,  and  then  asserted  to  you  by  one  who  knows  before  you 
can  bring  yourself  to  believe  that  there  was  ever  a  town  there. 
Such  a  place  hasn't  even  ruins  left;  it  has  been  so  ploughed  and 
churned  by  shell  fire  that  no  walls,  no  roofs  are  visible,  and  where 
even  cellars  and  foundation  stones  have  to  be  sought  with  a 
pick  and  shovel. 

I  remember  my  incredulity  while  with  the  Canadians  when 
an  officer  pointed  out  a  rough  waste  space  to  me  and  said  "that 
is  Carency."  I  didn't  know  there  had  been  a  village  by  that 
name  so  inquired,  "What  do  you  mean  by  Carney?''  "The 
town  of  Carency,  and  that  is  what  is  left."  Even  then  I  felt 
that  he  was  "spoofing"  me  until  my  eye  caught  fragments  of 
stone  and  wreckage  half  buried,  strewn  about  over  this  area, 
while  closer  observation  showed  that  this  wreckage,  a  board 
here,  a  part  of  a  rafter  there,  more  cobble  stones  than  elsewhere 
and  stone  of  a  nature  different  from  those  in  the  fields  or  along 
the  road,  and  all  of  this  in  a  more  or  less  regularly  circum- 
scribed area,  convinced  me  that  I  was  gazing  on  what  had  once 
been  a  town. 

Such  a  town  too  was  Cumieres  lying  beside  Dead  Man's  Hill, 
in  No  Man's  Land  for  four  years,  held  alternately  by  the  French 
and  the  Germans.  When  we  kicked  off  the  morning  of  September 
26  for  the  'Meuse-Argonne,'  zero  hour  found  the  waiting  line  in 
the  swamps  of  Forges  Creek  just  in  front  of  Cumieres.  When 
our  troops  took  Forges,  Forges  Wood  and  the  village  of  Ger- 
court — their  objectives  for  that  first  day,  Cumieres  was  desig- 
nated as  our  forward  dump  for  provisions  and  ammunition. 
The  first  time  I  went  to  find  Cumieres  it  is  likely  I  would  have 
missed  it  more  or  less  completely  in  depending  solely  on  a  map 
reference,  but  the  remembrance  of  Carency  told  me  where 
Cumieres  was  when  I  reached  there.  In  the  darkness  of  night 
the  limbers  and  wagons  of  the  battalions  and  other  units  would 
come  down  to  this  point  to  pick  up  and  spread  to  the  fighting 
line  the  things  the  line  must  have. 

Lieut.  Ehart  was  the  transport  officer  for  the  123rd  Machine 
Gun  Battalion  at  that  time.  It  was  his  fortune  not  to  have  seen 
Cumieres  on  September  26,   or  by  daylight  on  any  day,  for 

152 


when  his  battalion  went  forward  it  was  well  to  the  left  of  this 
village  and  over  toward  Chattencourt.  But  he  and  his  transport 
came  down  there  night  after  night  in  the  rain  and  the  darkness 
to  get  food  and  small  arms  ammunition,  and  he  knew  that  the 
village  of  Cumieres  was  the  forward  Division  dump,  and  in  the 
darkness  he  pictured  to  himself  how  this  village  looked;  he  could 
see  the  village  church  on  a  certain  corner;  he  even  saw  the  type 
of  architecture  of  this  church;  he  saw  the  row  of  dwellings  with 
their  straw  and  chalk-stone  stucco;  he  saw  the  deserted  stores. 
There  was  a  clear  mental  picture  but  he  did  not  know  that  it 
was  only  a  mental  picture. 

About  October  6  I  had  to  have  an  adjutant  as  mine  was 
transferred  to  the  Postal  Service,  and  on  request  to  General 
Bell,  Lieut.  Ehart  was  transferred  to  my  headquarters  then  at 
Longbut.  Two  or  three  days  after  the  transfer  I  was  going 
to  drive  to  the  front  and  asked  Lieut.  Ehart  to  accompany  me. 
On  the  way  up  he  inquired,  "Will  we  go  to,  or  through  Cumieres?" 
"Yes:  it  is  likely  that  we  can  go  no  farther  than  there  with  the 
car."  "Well,  I  am  particularly  anxious  to  see  that  town:  I  have 
seen  it  only  in  the  darkness  but  what  I  saw  has  left  a  very  vivid 
impression  on  me,  and  I  wish  particularly  to  see  that  old  church 
on  the  corner:  more  than  this,  I  don't  think  there  is  another 
town  in  France  I  dislike  so  much,  for  Cumieres  will  always  mean 
mud,  rain,  gas,  high  explosive  and  hell  in  general  to  me."  I 
began  to  wonder  a  little  if  Lieut.  Ehart  was  quite  'all  there,' 
but  said  nothing  for  I  didn't  know  but  he  had  found  the  remains 
of  a  church  on  a  corner  somewhere.  We  arrived.  "This  is  Cum- 
ieres", and  the  Lieut,  looked  at  me  in  amazement.  He  thought 
as  I  had  at  Vimy  Ridge  that  I  was  "spoofing  him,"  for  there 
was  no  church:  there  was  not  a  sign  of  any  structure  other  than 
the  broken  stones  and  the  flat  roof  of  concrete  and  I-beams, 
sticking  just  above  the  level  of  the  ground,  of  a  one-time  Hun 
pill-box.  He  gazed  with  amazement,  and  awe,  and  incredulity 
on  his  face,  and  then  he  told  me  what  he  had  seen  night  after 
night  in  the  darkness:  how  he  was  so  convinced  that  he  saw  these 
things  that  he  always  stopped  the  head  of  his  transport  column 
just  opposite  the  office  of  the  village  Mairie,  and  depended  on 

153 


seeing  that  particular  building  to  give  the  command  to  halt. 
What  a  wonderful  machine  the  imagination  is,  and  what  a 
blessing  the  lieutenant,  did  not  have  to  take  his  transport  down 
to  Cumieres  in  daylight. 


But  there  is  a  limit  to  human  endurance.  High  resolve,  dis- 
cipline and  morale  can  be  worn  down  and  consumed  by  ex- 
haustion, by  privation,  by  starvation,  and  by  unceasing  day 
and  night  anticipation  and  nerve  tension.  Before  we  went  into 
the  war  it  was  a  more  or  less  recognized  law  that  an  organization 
in  the  front  line,  where  attack  and  counter-attack  was  made 
and  received,  outlived  its  immediate  and  highest  effectiveness 
in  ten  days  or  less.  In  some  cases — and  with  good  troops  too — 
three  or  four  days  seemed  all  the  men  could  endure  and  carry-on 
effectively.  But  in  the  Meuse-Argonne,  and  farther  up  the  line 
wThere  the  French  and  British  were  going  forward  also,  the  belief 
of  our  High  Command  that  the  time  had  come  for  striking, 
for  striking  hard,  and  for  continuing  to  strike  irrespective  of  the 
number  of  days  in  the  line,  made  us  forget  some  of  the  things 
learned  previously.  As  a  result  we  had  outfits  in  the  front  line 
fighting,  watching,  going  forward,  wet,  hungry,  half-clothed, 
half-fed,  dirty,  lousy,  physically  and  nervously  at  a  low  ebb,  for 
some  of  these  outfits  had  been  in  this  front  line  for  more  than  a 
month.  Finally  General  Bell  insisted  that  his  division  had  reached 
the  point  where  it  must  have  rest,  and  we  were  pulled  out  and 
sent  to  a  "quiet  sector,"  the  Troyon  sector,  just  south  of  Verdun. 


Did  you  ever  put  heavy,  and  light,  and  variegated  traffic  over 
an  impassable  "one-way"  road  in  the  dark?  Well,  that's  what 
every  division  in  the  A.  E.  F.  had  to  do.  Take  one  road  as  an 
illustration — the  one  from  the  corner  south  of  Chattencourt, 
through  the  village  of  Cumieres,  across  Forges  creek,  through 
Forges  and  to  the  ruined  mill  at  Ratentout  and  the  spring,  the 
flowing  spring  where  water  was  chlorinated  and  then  used  for 
all  the  front  line  troops  of  the  division.  Oh  Yes,  there  were  dead 
horses,  and  occasionally  a  dead  soldier  in  Forges  creek,  and  the 

154 


spring  was  a  part  of  the  creek,  and  you  just  can't  separate  water 
that  has  come  in  contact  with  a  dead  artillery  horse  from  that 
which  has  not,  but  it  was  all  chlorinated,  and  the  chlorinated 
water  plus  some  dead  animal  is  much  safer  drinking  than  water 
from  shell  holes — water  well  impregnated  with  mustard  gas  for 
instance.  Besides  this,  one  never  knows  what  may  be  in  the 
bottom  of  that  shell  hole.  But  this  isn't  a  treatise  on  hygiene 
and  sanitation;  it's  an  account  of  traffic  and  transportation. 

The  aforesaid  bit  of  road  some  three  kilometres  in  length, 
winds  about  a  hill.  It  runs  east,  and  northeast,  and  north,  and 
northwest,  and  west  in  order  to  get  where  it  wants  to  go.  It  is 
all  of  yellow  clay  except  some  chalkstone  on  the  hillside,  and 
some  swamp  along  Forges  creek.  It  had  been  in  No  Man's  Land 
for  four  years,  just  out  in  front  of  Dead  Man's  Hill  and  the  huge 
tunnels  the  Huns  had  dug  through  these  hills.  Where  it  winds 
up  along  the  side  of  the  hill  on  its  eastward  leg,  it  rises  more  than 
two  hundred  feet  above  the  valley  of  the  Meuse.  When  it  turned 
to  the  northeast  and  north  it  came  under  direct  observation 
from  the  Hun  lines.  It  was  a  road  thoroughly  dreaded,  and 
rightfully  so,  by  all  the  men  who  drove  front-line  transport; 
and  it  was  a  "one-way"  road — not  from  choice,  not  because 
there  was  another  road  which  could  be  used  to  complete  a  loop, 
but  because  of  topographical  conditions.  It  was  a  "one-way" 
road  because  it  was  so  bad  and  so  narrow  that  one  vehicle  could 
not  meet  another,  and  a  column  of  marching  troops  could  not 
meet  a  vehicle.  And  all  the  troops,  all  the  ammunition,  all  the 
food,  all  the  wounded,  all  the  supplies  of  every  sort  for  the 
division,  had  to  travel  this  particular  road.  Every  night,  and 
many  days  the  Hun  shelled  this  particular  bit  of  geography, 
for  he  knew  that  it  carried  the  arterial  life-blood  of  at  least  one 
division  of  allied  troops. 

Late  in  October  the  particular  division  which  had  been  en- 
during these  disadvantages  for  nearly  a  month,  and  which  had 
been  handling  traffic  over  this  road  on  the  "block"  system,  was 
relieved  and  sent  to  a  "quiet  sector."  (It's  another  story  of  how 
that  "quiet  sector"  changed  its  name  inside  of  ten  days  there- 
after.)    The  "block  system"  meant  that  traffic  was  allowed  to 

155 


enter  the  southerly  and  westerly  end  of  this  road,  flow  toward 
the  front  for  a  period,  and  then  on  word  from  the  director  of 
traffic  the  "block"  would  be  closed  for  traffic  going  toward  the 
front  and  opened  for  that  bringing  wounded  back,  and  for  the 
"empties"  coming  back  from  the  front.  Most  of  the  time  the 
telephone  was  out  of  commission  and  the  "block"  had  to  be 
run  by  sending  a  messenger  to  the  open  end  with  a  message  that 
at  11:30  p.  m.  or  2  p.  m.  as  the  case  might  be,  that  that  end 
would  be  closed.    It  was  a  joyous  life  for  all  concerned. 

But  the  division  has  been  relieved,  and  the  order  specified 
that  at  5  p.  m.  of  a  particular  date,  -the  control  of  the  divisional 
area  would  pass  from  the  542nd  Division  to  the  245th  Division, 
and  at  5  p.  m.  things  were  just  going  good.  About  7  p.  m.  my 
telephone  rang  and  a  voice  said,  "General  X" — the  division 
commander  of  the  542nd — "  has  just  been  informed  that  the 
road  between  Cumieres  and  Forges  is  blocked,  and  one  regiment 
of  our  infantry  with  its  transport  is  held  up  on  the  far  side. 
Will  you  go  up  there  and  clear  the  road?"  Naturally  I  didn't 
crave  the  job.  As  usual  it  was  raining.  The  road  was  ankle  deep 
in  mud  in  the  dry  spots  and  knee  deep  everywhere  else.  More 
than  this,  our  control  had  passed  at  5  p.  m.,  so  I  said,  "under 
what  authority  will  I  take  over  command?"  "You  will  have  to 
do  it  on  your  own  nerve,  but  General  X — says  he  will' back  you 
to  the  limit;  the  General  isn't  going  to  give  you  an  order  to  do 
this,  but  asks  it  as  a  favor  to  the  division."  Of  course  that  put 
a  different  face  on  the  matter,  so  back  I  went  to  that  bit  of  road 
to  which  I  had  just  said  "Goodby"  and  which  I  had  hoped  never 
to  see  again,  taking  with  me  twelve  men  of  the  Military  Police 
who  hated  the  job  as  much  as  I  did. 

Was  it  blocked?  From  Marre  on  the  southeast  to  Bethancourt 
on  the  west — a  distance  of  about  four  miles — it  was  nothing 
but  a  pot  of  human  jam.  There  was  a  marching  column  of 
French  infantry,  a  whole  brigade  of  them.  There  was  French 
heavy  transport,  trucks  and  forgeons;  there  was  a  battery  of 
American  howitzers  with  their  huge  caterpillar  tractors;  there 
was  an  engineer  train  with  heavy  bridge  material;  then  there 
was  horse  drawn  transport,  mule  drawn  transport,  motor  lorries, 

156 


officers,  automobiles,  ambulances — about  everything  in  the  way 
of  vehicles  one  could  imagine.  There  were  even  motor  cycle 
messengers  wedged  into  that  mass;  there  was  profanity,  mud, 
darkness,  rain,  and  several  hundred  different  kinds  of  orders 
and  advice;  there  was  surging  back  and  forth,  each  one  trying  to 
find  a  way  to  get  through — except  on  the  part  of  some  of  the 
more  experienced  drivers  who,  with  that  never  failing  philosophy 
of  theirs,  were  making  the  best  of  a  bad  mess  by  going  soundly 
to  sleep  while  waiting  for  someone  to  untangle  the  mass.  Some 
motor  lorries  were  sunk  to  the  hubs  in  the  mud  at  the  side  of 
the  road;  some  were  diagonally,  or  even  transversely  across  the 
road  showing  the  efforts  of  the  driver  at  getting  out,  turning 
around,  or  trying  to  get  through.  It  took  probably  an  hour  for 
me  to  walk  through — over  and  under  vehicles  and  animals- 
through  the  worst  part  of  this  jam  trying  to  find  the  most  feasible 
way  to  untangle  the  snarl. 

As  luck  would  have  it  the  "heavies"  with  their  caterpillars 
were  located  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  jam,  and  near  a  part 
of  the  road  which  was  so  uniformly  bad  that  our  engineers  had 
planked  it  for  about  200  feet  with  heavy  planks  sixteen  feet 
long.  This  gave  a  bit  of  firm  roadway  sixteen  feet  wide,  wide 
enough  for  vehicles  to  meet,  and  it  seemed  to  be  our  only  hope. 
The  next  thing  was  to  stop  every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  from 
giving  orders  that  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  solution  of  the  trouble, 
for  these  orders  had  no  co-ordination,  and  could  only  make 
matters  worse;  so  after  telling  unknown  officers,  of  unknown 
rank,  to  shut  up;  after  threatening  several  with  arrest;  after 
convincing  them  that  I  was  in  command,  I  went  to  the  officer 
in  charge  of  the  artillery  column,  told  him  to  uncouple  his  leading 
caterpillar,  and  to  do  as  he  was  told  regardless  of  protests  or 
comments.  Then  he  was  told  to  start  down  the  road  run  the 
nose  of  his  caterpillar  into  anything  in  front  of  him,  and  push 
it  over  into  the  ditch  off  the  road.  It  so  happened  that  a  section 
of  French  motor  lorries  were  just  in  front  of  him,  and  as  the  big 
tractor  pushed  first  one  and  then  another  off  into  what  seemed 
to  be  bottomless  mud,  it  began  to  look  as  if  this  already  lurid 
occasion  was  about  to  be  enhanced  by  an  immediate  severance 
of  allied  ties,  and  that  an  international  crisis  was  at  hand. 

1£7 


But  that  tractor  gave  us  a  clear  road  for  a  couple  of  hundred 
feet,  and  then  we  came  to  the  planked  space  which  was  cleared 
in  the  same  way,  giving  us  about  two  hundred  feet  more  where 
it  was  possible  for  vehicle  to  meet  vehicle.  To  make  a  long  and 
dirty  story  short,  that  traffic  jam  met,  passed,  and  was  dis- 
solved on  that  two  hundred  feet  of  planking.  Occasionally  the 
caterpillar  would  have  to  go  up  or  down  the  road  to  shove  some 
crosswise  vehicle  into  the  ditch,  but  that  was  of  small  moment; 
the  caterpillar  rather  enjoyed  doing  it  as  soon  as  the  habit  was 
formed.  Occasionally  some  officer's  car  would  try  to  steal  a 
march  on  the  procession,  or  some  aide  would  arrive  in  the  dark- 
ness with  a  message  like  this: 

"General  Z — demands  that  you  put  him  through  immediately. " 
One  Cadillac,  with  a  general  officer  and  his  two  aides,  made  an 
individual  effort  to  get  through,  and  succeeded  in  blocking  one 
end  of  the  open  space.  After  expressing  my  personal  opinion  of 
him  to  his  face — unless  he  turned  his  head,  for  it  was  so  dark 
in  his  car  I  could  not  see  him — my  trusty  caterpillar  pushed 
him  and  his  car  into  the  ditch  where  he  remained  until  the  road 
was  well  cleared. 

At  1  a.  m.  the  units  of  my  own  division  came  through,  and  I 
thanked  my  artillery  officer  for  his  assistance  in  pushing  the 
road  open,  and  then  in  pulling  stranded  vehicles  back  on  the 
road,  collected  my  weary  twelve  men,  and  turned  the  control 
of  that  road  over  to  anyone  who  might  apply  for  the  job. 

For  one  week  after  making  this  move  the  Division  rested. 
"Resting"  in  the  army  differs  from  the  definition  in  the  diction- 
ary. In  the  army  one  is  supposed  to  rest  by  working  hard  at 
something  else,  and  our  week  of  rest  was  spent  in  a  feverish 
activity  to  repair,  and  replace  everything  that  needed  repairing 
or  replacing.  Equipment  of  all  kinds  must  needs  be  neglected 
somewhat  during  a  campaign,  so  animals,  harness,  wheeled 
equipment,  uniforms,  underwear,  rolling  kitchens,  arms,  reports 
and  paper  work  had  to  be  brought  up  to  standard  again,  and 
one  week  isn't  a  long  time  in  which  to  do  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  our  chief-of-staff,  not  satisfied  with 
information  passed  on  to  us  by  the  Division  we  had  followed 

158 


in  this  sector,  began  to  institute  raids — raids  in  this  "quiet 
sector."  Fritz  hates  to  be  disturbed.  He  has  no  objections  to 
being  the  disturbing  element,  himself,  but  a  little  annoyance  like 
a  raid  makes  him  peevish,  so  he  began  to  vent  his  spleen  in 
"strafing"  us.  Also,  it  is  likely  that  he  ascertained  that  there 
were  different  troops  in  his  front,  and  that  the  new  ones  were  not 
inclined  to  observe  the  "entente  cordiale"  with  him.  A  few  days, 
a  few  raids,  and  it  began  to  be  noised  about,  "we  are  going  in 
again."  This  rumor  proved  true,  for  shortly  there  came  orders 
for  a  four-division  show  to  be  put  on,  and  the  Thirty-third  was 
one  of  the  four  divisions. 

There  were  some  features  of  this  show — for  it  is  only  fair  to 
call  it  such — which  were  more  or  less  absurd.  In  the  first  place 
the  show  was  more  or  less  a  demonstration,  and  was  intended  as 
an  aid  to  the  Meuse-Argonne  drive  more  than  anything  else. 
Then  too,  it  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Metz,  which  was 
only  about  35  or  40  kilometres  away — and  was  intended  to  put 
the  wind  up  for  the  Hun  over  the  safety  of  that  city.  But  the 
first  impression  at  Division  Headquarters  was  that  it  was  the 
real  thing,  and  that  once  started  we  were  to  go  as  far  as  Metz, 
or  Berlin  if  we  wanted  to  and  could. 

Troyon,  and  all  our  points  held  in  force  except  one  or  two, 
were  on  the  heights  over  the  valley  of  the  Woevre.  In  the  valley 
were  a  number  of  ruined  villages,  but  the  valley  itself — in  our 
immediate  front— was  practically  No  Man's  Land. 

The  day  before  the  show  was  to  begin  General  Bell  sent  me  to 
the  front  to  bring  back  the  latest  reports  on  road  conditions, 
especially  in  and  out  of  Herbeville,  as  this  was  the  map  location 
he  had  selected  for  his  next  headquarters — after  the  division 
began  its  trek  to  Metz  and  Berlin.  In  its  prime  I  imagine 
Herbeville  was  a  village  of  possibly  500  people.  Just  now  it  was 
inhabited  by  a  platoon  of  our  machine  gunners,  who  were  holding 
it  as  a  strong  point.  As  orders  were  that  no  officer  should  visit 
the  front  line  alone  I  had  taken  Captain  Ehart,  my  adjutant, 
with  me.  The  only  way  we  could  get  into  Herbeville  was  on 
foot,  and  the  roads  were  in  such  condition  that  if  the  Hun  had 
been  1000  miles  away,  and  General  Bell  had  wanted  to  get  into 

159 


this  village  still,  he  would  have  had  to  go  on  foot  also.  To  make 
a  long  story  short  Division  Headquarters  never  moved  to 
Herbeville. 

This  same  day,  and  while  on  this  mission  an  amusing  incident 
occurred.  At  Hannonville,  to  the  southwest  of  Herbeville,  there 
was  stationed  a  battalion  of  the  131st  infantry.  We  could  pass 
Hannonville  by  road  in  going  to  Herbeville.  Hannonville  was  a 
village  stretching  back  from  this  road  for  perhaps  half  a  mile  to 
the  east.  I  had  driven  as  near  the  front  as  Hannonville  several 
times,  and  this  place  had  been  disturbed  comparatively  little. 
Some  towns  and  villages  were  left  as  nearly  undestroyed  as 
possible  by  the  Germans,  evidently  with  an  eye  to  their  future 
use  by  themselves. 

We  were  just  approaching  the  cross-road  leading  into  this 
village  when  a  Hun  battery  cut  loose.  The  fire  was  not  rapid, 
nor  excessive,  so  slowing  down  a  bit  we  kept  on  going.  But  so 
did  the  fire.  Also  it  was  easy  to  see  that  Fritz  was  doing  it 
systematically,  for  as  the  first  shells  had  landed  in  the  eastern- 
most part  of  the  village,  the  successive  ones  were  coming  regular- 
ly, and  with  mathematical  exactness  to  the  west.  I  waited  for 
Captain  Ehart  to  say  something;  he  kept  still.  Then  I  hoped 
that  the  driver  would  make  a  suggestion;  he  never  said  a  word. 
At  the  rate  we  were  progressing,  and  at  the  rate  that  shelling 
was  lifting  all  the  time,  we  were  due  to  get  to  the  cross-road 
simultaneously  with  a  bunch  of  shells.  Finally  I  leaned  over  to 
Captain  Ehart  and  said  "Joe,  I  don't  remember  that  we  have  lost 
anything  in  Hannonville;  driver  turn  round."  With  a  look  of  the 
most  intense  relief  the  Captain  grabbed  my  hand,  and  with  his 
face  in  smiles  said,  "Thank  you,  Colonel  for  those  kind  words; 
I  thought  you  had  forgotten  them."  What  the  driver  thought 
can  be  best  expressed  by  what  he  did;  that  Dodge  car  turned 
around  "on  a  ten  cent  piece;"  he  stepped  on  the  gas  and  we  got 
away  much  faster  than  we  had  come. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  time  the  Division  spent  in  the 
Troyon  sector,  up  to  November  eleven,  a  sort  of  warfare  which 
may  be  described  as  "irritation  warfare"  was  maintained.  The 
Hun  made  no  raids  upon  us  but  we  continued  annoying  him. 

160 


It  is  doubtful  if  this  gained  us  anything.  The  low  lands  of  the 
valley  were  excessively  wet;  some  of  the  villages,  like  Herbeville 
on  our  side  of  the  valley,  were  practically  under  water.  A 
raiding  party  went  into  St.  Hilaire  one  night,  found  the  village 
flooded,  and  could  not  find  a  German.  A  few  nights  later  another 
party  visited  this  village  and  discovered  a  strong  party  of  the 
enemy;  the  village  had  dried  out  a  bit;  a  little  engagement 
ensued  which  cost  us  two  men.  So  far  as  a  general  advance  was 
concerned,  or  the  taking  of  ground  which  strengthened  our 
position  was  concerned,  it  all  netted  us  nothing. 

All  this  time  too,  we  were  becoming  more  and  more  convinced 
that  the  war  was  near  its  close.  While  in  the  Meuse-Argonne 
many  of  our  prisoners  stated  freely  that  they  knew  that  the  end 
was  near;  some  fixed  the  date  as  November  1st;  many  said 
November  5th.  Prisoners  brought  in  here  on  the  Troyon  front 
nearly  all  said  the  war  was  going  to  end  November  5th.  On 
November  9th  it  was  a  matter  of  general  information  about 
division  headquarters  that  the  end  was  set,  and  would  be 
November  11th.  At  the  same  time  an  advance  all  along  our 
ront  was  ordered  for  November  10th. 

It  has  been  said  that  this  advance  was  necessary  by  way  of  a 
demonstration  in  order  to  clinch  the  arranging  of  an  armistice 
on  the  11th,  but  in  view  of  the  very  frank  and  positive  state- 
ments of  prisoners — some  of  whom  were  officers  and  "unter- 
omcers" — who  had  declared  that  they  had  been  informed  that 
Germany  would  quit  on  November  5th,  and  in  view  of  the 
accepted  information  we  had  from  American  sources,  I  am  con- 
vinced that,  irrespective  of  any  demonstration  along  the  front 
line,  for  the  part  of  the  line  south  of  Verdun  at  least,  that  the 
armistice  would  have  come  just  the  same. 

But  as  said,  orders  came  for  a  general  advance  along  our  front. 
One  other  item  to  indicate  that  in  the  minds  of  our  chief-of- 
staff,  and  of  the  division  commander,  that  they  felt  certain  that 
the  armistice  was  assured,  was  first,  a  remark  to  me  by  the 
chief-of-staff  on  the  evening  of  November  9th  that  the  move- 
ment the  next  day  was  "a  joke  on  the  Division."  Next,  that 
unlike  a  forward  movement  where  the  result  is  at  all  uncertain, 

161 


and  where  good  judgment  always  holds  out  a  sufficient  reserve 
of  supporting  troops,  the  advance  for  November  10th  threw  all 
the  infantry,  and  all  the  machine  guns  we  had  into  the  line 
with  orders  to  "go  forward  as  far  as  possible  until  eleven  o'clock 
November  11th,  when  all  firing  must  cease." 

Further  up  the  line,  in  the  vicinity  of  Stenay  or  Sedan  for 
instance,  it  may  have  been  desirable  and  necessary  to  fight  until 
the  final  moment,  but  I  am  thoroughly  and  completely  convinced 
that  nothing  that  the  Thirty-third  Division  did,  or  that  any 
other  division  in  our  section  of  the  line  did  on  November  10th, 
or  November  11th,  had  any  influence  whatever  on  bringing  about 
cessation  of  the  war,  and  that  American  lives  lost  that  morning 
in  the  ranks  of  the  Thirty-third  Division  were  lives  needlessly 
sacrificed.  By  ten-thirty  that  morning  our  Division  surgeon 
had  reported  over  200  casualties,  and  in  the  Thirty-third  division 
cemetery  just  outside  of  Thillot,  under  the  precipitous  bluffs  of 
the  heights  overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Woevre,  there  are  more 
than  thirty  graves  of  those  officers  and  men  who  gave  their  lives 
that  morning  of  November  11th  that  a  "demonstration"  might 
be  made.  Because  of  a  blunder,  or  a  mistaken  idea,  or  a  desire 
to  make  a  showing,  or  for  some  other  indefensible  reason,  into 
the  mud  and  marsh  of  the  valley  of  the  Woevre  marched  the 
foot  troops  of  the  Thirty-third  Division  that  morning  of  Novem- 
ber 11th  to  make  a  Roman  holiday  for  someone. 


162 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

There  are  many  people  who  ask  "How  did  the  men  in  the 
army  feel  when  the  war  ended?"  There  is  no  answer  to  this 
question;  it  is  likely  that  no  two  men  felt  alike.  Some  were 
jubilant;  some  were  fairly  hysterical;  some  showed  an  almost 
immediate  "let-down,"  an  easing  up  in  their  sense  of  duty  and 
responsibility;  some  became  more  or  less  lethargic,  and  ab- 
normally quiet,  as  if  they  had  previously  said  a  final  goodbye 
to  all  friends,  and  could  not  quite  grasp  the  reprieve  which  had 
come  to  them;  some  seemed  utterly  stunned  by  the  realization 
that  the  worst  was  over  and  that  they  might  go  home  again. 
I  do  not  think  anyone  felt  that  the  armistice  was  merely  an 
armistice,  and  that  fighting  might  begin  again  later  on.  The 
fact  was  that  the  men  of  the  Thirty-third  Division  were  con- 
vinced that  the  war  was  at  an  end,  and  that  the  Hun  was  done. 
I  do  not  suppose  that  the  feeling  among  the  men  was  very 
different  from  that  the  men  of  Appomatox  or  Yorktown  had. 
In  my  own  case  it  was  a  sudden  realization  of  extreme  mental, 
nervous  and  physical  weariness.  I  felt  as  men  looked — men  I 
had  seen  during  the  days  of  trench  warfare — men  coming  out 
from  a  tour  of  duty  in  the  front  trenches — that  column  of  muddy, 
tired  men  who  looked  as  if  hope  had  forsaken  them,  who  reeled 
as  they  walked  in  column,  who  gave  no  sign  of  recognition,  or 
curiosity,  or  of  interest  in  anything  or  anyone  as  they  stumbled 
along.  Aside  from  the  sight  of  wounded  and  dying,  this  column 
of  exhausted  troops  is  the  saddest,  the  most  pathetic,  the  most 
pitiable  sight  within  the  army.  Dirt  destroys  morale,  or  in  other 
words  it  is  demoralizing.  Consider  this  with  psychology  and  it 
is  demoralizing  not  only  in  the  army  but  wherever  its  influence 
is  exerted.  This  does  not  mean  accidental,  or  transient  dirt,  but 
refers  to  the  persistent,  continuous,  unescapable  dirt,  dirt  that 
you  eat  with  and  sleep  with;  dirt  you  are  conscious  of  in  your 
working  hours,  and  dirt  that  haunts  you  in  your  dreams;  dirt 
you  see  and  feel  all  the  time  on  yourself,  and  dirt  which  stares 
you  in  the  face  whenever  you  look  at  one  of  your  fellows.     It 

163 


lessens  self-respect,  which  is  the  foundation  stone  of  morale;  it 
breaks  down  the  wall  of  self-pride  you  have  unconsciously  built 
in  self-protection,  and  when  this  wall  crumbles  the  physical 
being  tires  more  easily,  and  this  physical  fatigue  aggravates 
and  incites  the  moral  deterioration.  Dirt  is  unquestionably  the 
connecting  link  in  the  vicious  circle — dirt,  physical  decline,  moral 
decrepitude.  The  man  who  devised  the  sentence  "cleanliness  is 
next  to  godliness"  spoke  better  than  he  knew,  and  certainly  in 
the  army  it  is  the  basis  of  all  discipline  and  morale. 


164 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

Ten  days  in  which  to  regain  our  equilibrium,  and  to  clean  up 
the  divisional  area,  and  then  came  the  march  to  Germany. 
This  hike  was  about  as  trying  as  anything  the  men  of  the  Division 
had  been  called  upon  to  undergo.  It  meant  an  average  of  eighteen 
kilometres  a  day  in  heavy  marching  order.  It  rained,  it  snowed, 
it  froze  and  rained  and  snowed  again.  The  men  were  wet  every 
night;  they  had  to  billet  in  barns  and  sheds  which  were  entirely 
unprepared  and  totally  unfit,  and  after  a  restless  and  uncomfort- 
able night  had  to  start  out  again  early  in  the  morning. 

Our  motor  transportation  was  so  limited  that  it  was  difficult 
to  keep  supplies  up  to  the  men,  and  the  only  way  we  could  do  it 
at  all,  was  by  making  two,  or  more  trips  with  the  lorries  each 
day.  Even  in  this  way  it  was  impossible  to  keep  full  rations  for 
the  animals,  and  the  consequent  underfeeding  of  the  horses  and 
mules  made  the  animal-drawn  transport  lag.  But  there  was  one 
thing  which  served  to  rest  the  tired  feet  and  warm  the  chilled 
bodies,  to  prevent  complaints  over  short  rations,  and  to  cause 
every  man  to  give  of  the  best  there  was  in  him — we  were  going 
into  Germany. 

The  march  took  us  through  the  mine-sowed  fields  of  Mars-la- 
Tour  where  the  Hun  had  planted  acre  after  acre,  and  mile  after 
mile  across  the  valley  of  the  Woevre  to  protect  the  approaches 
to  Metz,  to  Conflans  and  to  Briey.  When  we  saw  the  prepara- 
tions which  had  been  made  in  this  region,  and  then  realized  that 
if  the  Thirty-third  had  continued  to  go  ahead  in  its  drive  that 
we  would  have  been  walking  over  these  fields,  and  when  we 
knew  that  the  mine  sown  area  was  sufficiently  large  to  have 
attended  to  all  our  artillery  at  once,  or  all  of  our  infantry  at 
once,  we  did  not  regret  that  the  war  was  over.  These  chains 
of  mines  had  been  rendered  innocuous  by  our  engineers  before 
the  Division  passed  this  way,  but  at  the  cost  of  eight  of  our 
men  killed  during  the  destruction  or  removal. 

On  we  went,  through  Conflans,  through  Briey,  and  to  Audun- 

165 


le-Roman  that  dead  city;  Audun-le-Roman  where  in  1914  the 
Hun  had  lined  thirty-two  men,  women,  and  children  up  against 
a  wall,  and  had  shot  them  down;  the  Mayor,  the  village  priests, 
the  shop-keepers,  the  women  and  children,  and  all  because  the 
town  had  not  turned  in  one  or  two  fire-arms  as  ordered  by  the 
German  commandant.  Then  not  satisfied  with  this  atrocity, 
every  roof  of  every  building  had  been  burned.  Nearly  all  of 
these  buildings  were  of  stone,  and  the  stark,  gaunt  walls  re- 
mained, but  for  four  years  Audun-le-Roman  had  been  a  dead 
and  deserted  city.  While  other  towns  in  this  vicinity  had  gone 
on  living  under  German  rule  as  best  they  could,  Audun-le- 
Roman  had  been  allowed  to  stand  in  its  desolation,  untenanted, 
avoided,  a  silent  protest  and  a  continuous  reminder  of  the 
relentless  ferocity  and  savagery  of  the  invader.  The  line  of  march 
of  the  portion  of  the  Division  under  my  command  passed  within 
about  one  half  kilometre  of  this  place,  and  several  of  us  took 
occasion  to  go  into  the  town. 

As  we  viewed  the  ruins,  a  public  building  here,  a  mansion 
there,  a  school  house,  a  church,  a  business  block — many  signs 
of  prosperity  and  progress,  for  Audun-le-Roman  was  an  especially 
prosperous  place  in  1914,  and  in  its  architecture  and  arrangement 
was  much  more  pretentious  than  most  cities  of  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  inhabitants.  As  we  gazed  at  the  ruined  structures  we 
could  see  evidences  from  the  facades,  and  the  type  of  architec- 
ture, that  they  had  been  there  for  generations,  and  we  mentally 
visioned  the  streets  thronging  with  vivacious  and  home-loving 
people;  and  we  looked  at  the  wall  against  which  those  thirty- 
two  human  beings  stood — a  wall  well  nicked  with  Mauser 
bullets — where  those  mothers  and  children  took  their  last  look 
at  the  city  they  loved,  at  the  friends  they  were  leaving,  at  the 
sky  and  the  earth,  and  the  sunshine  of  that  September  day,  and 
as  we  pictured  all  these  things  I  could  not  but  regret  that  every 
American  soldier  in  the  A.  E.  F.  was  unable  to  march  through 
this  town,  hear  what  had  happened  there,  and  see  what  was  left; 
not  to  make  him  bloodthirsty  or  vindictive,  but  that  each  one 
might  carry  with  him  such  an  impress  of  military  Prussianism 
that  never  could  time,  or  age,  efface  the  picture. 

166 


Did  we  get  into  Germany?  We  did,  and  we  did  not.  The  66th 
Infantry  Brigade  crossed  over  the  border,  stayed  one  night, 
and  was  ordered  back  into  Luxemburg,  and  in  Luxemburg  the 
Division  stayed  from  December  20th,  1918  to  April  22nd,  1919. 
Doing  what?  Cleaning  horses,  harness,  rolling  equipment; 
playing  football,  giving  horse  and  auto  shows;  doing  guard  duty; 
in  a  considerable  measure  policing  Luxemburg  along  civil  as 
well  as  military  lines.  Our  portion  of  the  duchy  was  all  that 
north  of  a  line  drawn  east  and  west  through  the  city  of  Luxem- 
burg or  in  other  words,  about  three  fourths  of  the  duchy.  The 
province  was  in  a  political  ferment.  A  few  days  after  we  moved 
in  the  whole  Luxemburg  army  went  on  a  strike  for  higher  pay. 
Fancy  a  whole  army  going  on  a  strike;  this  one  did,  and  they 
gave  evidence  of  being  on  a  strike  by  casting  their  gorgeous, 
be-plumed  hats  on  the  ground,  and  then  trampling  on  them. 
Two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  the  most  resplendent  army  in 
Europe,  went  on  a  strike  and  trampled  on  their  hats. 

There  were  two  post-war  parties.  One  was  in  favor  of  a  close 
and  binding  alliance  with  France.  (This  party  had  been  corner- 
ing all  the  French  francs  they  could  get  hold  of.)  The  other 
party  wanted  a  close  and  binding  alliance  with  Belgium.  (This 
party  had  been  cornering  the  Belgique  currency.)  The  Grand 
Duchess  was  out  of  favor.  She  had  withdrawn  from  Luxemburg 
city,  and  was  resident  in  one  of  her  five  castles — the  one  near 
Colmar.  As  provost-marshal  it  was  up  to  me  to  keep  a  guard 
about  this  castle  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  our  men  carrying 
it  away  as  a  souvenir.  As  a  matter  of  fact  when  the  army  went 
out  on  strike,  the  court  chamberlain,  or  the  prime  minister — 
I  forget  which — requested  that  the  Division  furnish  such  a 
guard,  so  that  the  striking  Luxemburg  army  might  not  abduct 
the  Grand  Duchess,  so  there  were  twelve  military  police  stationed 
there,  a  force  I  deemed  adequate  for  all  emergencies. 

The  Grand  Duchess  was  very  democratic;  she  enjoyed  a  dish 
of  conversation  with  her  American  guard,  and  she  was  not  at 
all  loath  to  accept  a  cigarette — and  use  it — from  the  hands  of  an 
enlisted  man;  she  even  grew  to  specify  the 'particular  brand  of 
American  smokes  she  liked  best.    On  New  Year's  Day  she  re- 

167 


quested  the  privilege  of  dining  and  wineing  this  guard  detail  in 
the  castle.    It  began  to  look  like  a  "bon"  war. 

The  service  in  Luxemburg  was  not  unpleasant.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  maintain  activity,  to  draw  the  lines  of  discipline  closely, 
to  keep  the  men  engaged  in  one  way  or  another.  Here  in  Luxem- 
burg we  had  for  the  first  time,  our  own  artillery,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  more  than  a  year  I  met  the  officers  of  the  108th 
Ammunition  Train  from  whom  I  had  separated  at  Camp  Logan. 
During  the  active  period  of  the  war  the  Division  had  used 
British  artillery  when  in  the  4th  British  Army;  French  artillery 
when  in  10th  French  Army,  the  artillery  brigade  of  the  Twenty- 
seventh  Division  while  in  the  Meuse-Argonne,  and  the  artillery 
of  the  Thirtieth  Division  when  in  the  Troyon  sector.  During 
this  same  period  the  58th  artillery  brigade — or  ours — had  been 
attached  to  seven  or  eight  different  divisions  for  combat  action. 

But  the  political  unrest  in  Luxemburg  came  to  a  head.  Rumors 
of  revolution,  and  sinister  suspicions  of  assassinations,  beheadings 
and  horrors  of  all  sorts  which  floated  about,  were  finally  brought 
to  rest  by  the  Grand  Duchess  being  displaced  in  favor  of  her 
sister  next  younger.  There  were  four  or  five  of  these  sisters,  and 
they  were  entirely  too  thrifty  to  allow  the  job  to  get  out  of  the 
family.  It  is  probably  true  that  they  had  but  little  to  say  in  the 
matter,  for  an  uncle,  the  old  Grand  Duke,  did  the  thinking  and 
planning  for  the  family.  The  upsetting  of  the  sovereign,  and 
the  creation  of  a  new  one  really  made  less  stir  here  in  the  duchy 
than  the  election  of  a  new  justice  of  the  peace  does  here  at  home, 
and  the  Luxemburg  army  went  back  to  its  life  of  glorious  inaction 
and  majestic  safety,  with  an  increase  of  pay. 

Luxemburg  as  a  province  has  many  features  that  are  unusual. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  is  only  about  thrice  the  size  of  one  of 
our  thirty-six  township  counties,  it  has  two  capitals — Luxemburg 
city  the  executive  capital,  and  Diekirch  the  judiciary  capital. 
It  was  in  Diekirch  where  our  division  made  its  headquarters  for 
the  winter.  My  own  headquarters  were  established  in  the 
parochial  school-room  of  the  house  of  the  priest.  It  was  rather 
remarkable  how  often  it  was  my  lot  to  be  quartered  in  the  house 
of  a  priest.    At  Sanzey  it  was  the  priest's  house;  at  Eu  with  the 

168 


archbishop;  at  Diekirch  at  the  priest's;  over  night  at  Briey  at 
the  priest's.  The  billet  at  Eu  was  obtained  somewhat  under 
false  pretenses.  When  the  people  of  Eu  learned  that  an  American 
Division  was  coming  in,  and  when  the  city  was  canvassed  by 
the  Mairie  to  provide  billets,  the  archbishop  of  Eu  learned  in 
some  way  that  a  Colonel  of  the  Thirty-third — Colonel  Clinnin — 
was  a  Roman  Catholic.  The  archbishop  had  never  billeted  any- 
one, nor  was  he  asked  to  do  so  on  this  occasion,  but  he  requested 
that  Colonel  Clinnin  be  sent  to  him.  It  happened  that  Colonel 
Clinnin  and  the  headquarters  of  the  130th  Infantry  were  located 
in  a  village  some  little  distance  from  Eu.  Our  billeting  officer 
told  me  of  the  arrangement  made  by  the  archbishop,  asked  if— 
as  Colonel  Clinnin's  successor  I  wished  to  take  this  billet,  and 

1  decided  to  take  the  offer  to  myself. 

On  arrival  at  his  palace,  or  at  the  gate  of  the  grounds  to  the 
palace,  I  rang  the  bell.  Finally  the  gate  swung  open  and  a 
voice  somewhere  in  the  distance  said  "entrez".  I  walked  in. 
The  voice  was  found  to  be  that  of  an  elderly  woman,  who  when 
she  saw  me,  immediately  addressed  me  as  ule  Colonel."  I 
admitted  the  fact.  Another  bell  was  rung;  two  other  serving 
women  came ;  one  relieved  me  of  my  musette  bag,  the  other  acted 
as  my  conductor.  I  was  taken  to  a  large  and  very  pleasant  room, 
well  furnished,  and  containing  besides  the  usual  furniture  of  a 
bed  room  a  piano,  several  prie  dieu,  etc.  A  key  to  the  gate  of  the 
grounds  was  given  me.  A  serving  woman  brought  a  tray  with  a 
glass  and  a  small  decanter  of  very  excellent  wine,  and  I  was 
informed  that  the  archbishop  would  be  very  pleased  to  have 
me  specify  an  hour  agreeable  to  me,  to  wait  upon  him.  Knowing 
that  I  had  to  get  it  over  with  sooner  or  later,  I  suggested  that 

2  p.  m.,  would  suit  me,  if  that  time  was  agreeable  to  him;  the 
hour  suited  him. 

The  archbishop  was  cordial;  he  addressed  me  in  French  and 
my  reply  was  so  evidently  un-French  that  he  smiled  and  then 
spoke  in  rather  halting  English.  Finding  that  he  understood 
my  mother  tongue  fairly  well,  I  made  my  confession  that  I  was 
not  the  Colonel  he  had  been  expecting,  but  that  I  had  been 
sent  to  him  as  a  substitute  for  Colonel  Clinnin.      Then  the 

169 


atmosphere  chilled  a  little  bit.  After  a  little  more  conversation 
he  inquired  if  I  was  Roman  Catholic.  On  being  informed  in  the 
negative  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  lost  interest  in  me,  so 
as  quickly  as  possible  I  excused  myself  on  the  grounds  of  my 
military  duties,  and  got  away.  A  number  of  times  in  the  coming 
few  days,  I  met  the  archbishop  when  going  or  coming;  he  was 
always  courteous — but  not  interested.  On  leaving  Eu  I  paid  him 
my  respects,  and  asked  him  to  accept  one  hundred  francs  for 
his  poor. 

I  have  always  been  curious  as  to  the  further  developments  in 
this  matter,  for  either  my  behaviour  was  satisfactory  to  the 
archbishop,  or  my  donation  met  with  his  hearty  approval,  for 
after  the  Division  had  gone  into  the  line  in  the  Molliens  area, 
and  had  gone  through  the  affair  at  Hamel  and  the  one  at  Chipilly 
Ridge,  one  of  my  officers,  Captain  Killoran,  happened  to  be  in 
Eu,  happened  to  meet  the  archbishop  who  inquired  very  kindly 
after  my  welfare,  and  then  sent  me  the  message  by  Captain 
Killoran  that  I  had  his  blessing,  and  that  he  was  remembering 
me  in  his  devotions. 

The  priest  in  Diekirch  and  I  did  not  get  along  so  well.  It  is 
possible  that  our  prolonged  stay  had  something  to  do  with  this, 
for  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  people  as  a  whole,  were  rather 
tired  of  their  overload  of  American  soldiers  before  our  visit 
terminated.  This  priest  was  inclined  from  the  first,  to  find 
fault,  to  make  objections,  and  to  drop  uncomplimentary  re- 
marks. Some  of  the  Luxemburgers  were  unquestionably  German 
in  their  sympathies,  and  it  is  possible  that  this  priest  was  among 
them.  At  any  rate,  before  we  had  left  there  a  state  of  dislike  and 
hostility  existed  between  us,  and  on  one  occasion  I  was  forced 
to  tell  him  that  if  he  did  not  change  his  ways  his  cloth  would  not 
protect  him,  and  that  I  would  be  compelled  to  put  him  in  arrest. 
This  was  more  than  a  idle  threat,  for  some  time  previously  the 
chief  political  boss  of  Luxemburg,  and  the  man  who  gloried  in 
the  title  "heavyweight  champion  of  Luxemburg"  had  been 
arrested  at  my  instance.  It  is  true  we  were  unable  to  secure  con- 
viction in  the  civil  courts,  but  the  mere  fact  that  in  securing  law 
and  order  in  Luxemburg,  we  were  willing  to  land  on  any  offender, 

170 


no  matter  what  his  rank,  station,  or  status,  went  far  in  keeping 
the  turbulent,  and  the  law-breakers  in  a  state  of  quiescence. 

This  heavyweight  champion  had  a  sad  undoing  before  we  left 
Diekirch.  After  his  arrest  he  was  sufficiently  frightened  to  make 
him  behave  himself,  and  more  than  this,  he  started  in  to  curry 
favor  with  the  Americans.  From  time  to  time  various  organ- 
izations and  units  of  the  Division  put  on  boxing  bouts  and 
elimination  contests.  The  33d  Military  Police  Company  had  a 
sergeant  who  was  particularly  good,  but  as  he  weighed  194 
pounds  it  was  difficult  to  find  anyone  to  go  against  him.  The 
Luxemburg  champion  weighed  182,  but  he  would  not  consider 
taking  on  the  sergeant.  Finally  we  found  a  man  in  the  129th 
Infantry  who  weighed  only  168,  but  who  was  said  by  the  men  of 
the  regiment  to  be  a  "bearcat."  The  Luxemburg  champion 
agreed  to  go  three  rounds  with  him.  The  bout  was  staged  in  the 
public  square  in  Diekirch,  and  apparently  all  Luxemburg  turned 
out  to  see  it.  A  non-commissioned  officer  with  whom  the  Luxem- 
burg man  was  acquainted,  and  with  whom  he  had  been  rather 
friendly,  was  agreed  upon  as  referee.  Then  I  named  Captain 
Killoran  and  Captain  Ehart  as  ringside  judges,  and  as  referees 
for  the  referee — in  case  the  N.  C.  O.,  should  prove  to  be  giving 
either  man  the  best  of  it,  and  the  bout  was  on.  The  first  round 
was  'grand  stand'  play  on  the  part  of  the  champion,  and  caution 
in  feeling  out  his  man  on  the  part  of  the  doughboy.  Round  two 
came;  it  was  evident  at  once  that  Luxemburg  had  been  told 
that  the  end  would  come  in  this  round;  comments  on  every  side 
were  to  the  effect  that  "here  is  where  the  American  meets  de- 
feat," and  the  champion  tore  loose  with  all  he  had,  while  the 
infantryman  surprised  him  by  meeting  him  a  little  more  than 
half  way.  Just  at  the  close  of  this  round  the  "Champ"  pushed 
his  face  into  a  swinging  jolt,  and  landed  on  his  back  under  the 
ropes;  the  timekeeper  saved  him.  Round  three  looked  as  if  it 
might  end  at  once  for  the  champion  did  his  best  to  foul  his  man, 
and  did  foul  him,  but  the  doughboy  only  smiled  and  shook  his 
head  at  the  referee  when  that  official  was  ready  to  award  him 
the  bout.  Then  the  champ  did  his  best  to  clinch  and  stall  for 
time,  but  as  they  were  fighting  as  long  as  one  arm  was  free  in 

171 


clinches,  all  he  got  for  his  tactics  was  an  awful  drubbing.  Again 
he  was  sent  to  the  mat,  and  at  the  count  of  nine  he  rose  very 
reluctantly,  took  a  couple  of  open  handed  slaps  across  the  face, 
and  time  was  up.  There  was  no  need  for  a  decision.  Even  the 
populace,  which  had  declared  that  he  would  kill  the  American 
in  three  rounds  was  satisfied  that,  while  their  champion  might 
be  good  in  Luxemburg,  he  was  not  in  the  same  class  with  the 
doughboy. 

In  February  it  was  my  misfortune  to  come  down  with  the 
"flu."  After  repeated,  and  almost  annual  attacks  of  grippe  at 
home  over  a  period  of  more  than  twenty  years,  the  flu  made 
little  more  impression  on  me  than  an  old-time  attack  of  grippe. 
But  there  must  have  been  a  little  difference  somewhere,  or  it 
may  be  that  the  difference  was  in  the  environment  rather  than 
in  the  disease.  After  eight  days  in  bed  and  in  my  room  I  returned 
to  headquarters  at  the  priest's  house;  the  schoolroom  was  poorly 
heated  and  the  room  was  cold,  the  weather  wet  and  snowy.  On 
the  third  day  after  my  return  I  was  taken  sick  again,  this  time 
with  a  well  marked  case  of  pneumonia  accompanied  with  an 
acute  nephritis.  Again  I  went  to  bed,  and  Major  Reack  of  the 
Medical  Corps  was  sent  for.  Realizing  that  I  was  an  exceedingly 
sick  man,  and  knowing  how  many  of  our  flu-pneumonia  cases 
died  when  sent  to  the  hospital,  and  knowing  too,  that  if  I  ever 
reached  a  hospital  with  the  existence  of  that  nephritis  that  I 
would  draw  an  early  order  to  be  sent  back  to  the  states — if  I 
lasted  that  long — ,  I  made  my  orderly,  Andy  O'Neill,  and 
Captain  Ehart  promise  that  they  would  not  let  me  be  moved. 
This  was  merely  looking  forward  to  the  contingency  of  delirium, 
or  coma  on  my  part;  so  long  as  neither  of  these  conditions  super- 
vened, I  felt  quite  competent  to  keep  myself  out  of  the  hospital. 

Then  Colonel  Orr,  our  division  surgeon  came  in  with  Major 
Reack;  I  must  go  to  the  hospital.  Half  delirious  as  I  was,  I  still 
had  sufficient  stubbornness  to  refuse.  Then  Colonel  Orr  went 
to  General  Bell  and  asked  for  an  order  from  him  compelling  me 
to  go;  General  Bell  evidently  considered  that  if  I  wanted  to  die 
where  I  was  that  it  was  my  business,  for  he  declined  to  issue 
such  an  order,  and  Andy  O'Neill  went  on  nursing  me.    It  was  a 

172 


pleasant  illness;  there  were  days  of  mild  delirium,  days  of  a 
comatose  condition,  and  about  all  I  did,  as  I  now  recall  it,  was 
to  sleep,  and  to  ask  Major  Reack  to  leave  me  alone  when  he  came 
in,  and  to  swear  at  Andy  when  he  brought  me  soup  or  medicine, 
and  seventeen  days  from  the  time  I  went  to  bed  I  was  up  again. 

During  the  convalescence  all  that  appealed  to  me,  all  I  could 
think  about  was  apples.  Apples  in  Luxemburg,  in  the  month  of 
March,  are  not  easily  discovered,  but  Andy  and  my  driver, 
Faust,  took  a  day  off  and  scoured  the  country.  Faust  had  an 
uncle  living  in  Luxemburg,  and  with  the  aid  of  this  uncle  apples, 
good  apples  were  discovered  and  procured,  and  for  several  days 
I  just  lived  on  apples.  There  were  many  peccadillos  of  which 
both  Andy  and  Faust  were  guilty,  but  the  apples  wiped  out  all 
those  of  the  past,  and  I'm  afraid  granted  them  immunity  for 
some  of  the  future. 


Hdqs.  33rd.  Div. 
Diekirch,  Luxemburg. 

December  31,  1918—11:50  p.  m. 

Mr.  C.  A.  Fifer,  Rotary  Club,  Quincy,  111. 

Happy  New  Year,  fellows — meaning  all  of  you.  Joe  and  I  have 
been  comparing  notes,  and  find  that  a  lot  of  you  have  sent  us 
cards  and  letters,  many  more  than  we  deserve,  but  not  more  than 
we  appreciate.  This  is  addressed  to  "Pot,"  not  because  he  was 
the  only  one  who  sent  me  a  Christmas  card,  but  because  I  wanted 
to  write  his  new  name  on  an  envelope;  I  could  never  spell  his 
old  one.  The  English  troops  have  a  new  song,  which  by  ap- 
parently logical  steps  proves  that  the  solitary,  down-and-out, 
no  good,  flabby,  bone-headed  private  in  the  rear  rank  lost  the 
war,  and  won  the  war;  I  wish  I  could  get  it  for  Pot  so  that  he 
might  sing  it  for  you  in  return  for  your  affectionate  and  cheerful 
messages  sent  us;  also,  when  we  get  home  Joe  and  Royal  and  I 
are  going  to  use  it  to  prove  to  you  at  home  that  Quincy  Rotary 
won  the  war.  We  may  not  be  as  logical,  or  as  musical  as  the 
English  song,  but  we  are  going  to  do  it  just  the  same.  Just  now 
things  are  deadly  dull;  business  is  poor.   The  first  ten  days  of  the 

173 


armistice  every  one  had  that  grand  and  g-1-o-r-i-o-u-s  feeling; 
every  one  rested,  and  let  down,  and  took  stock.  The  move  to- 
wards the  Rhine  was  interesting.  Crossing  into  territory  held 
by  the  Hun  for  four  years  was  more  or  less  of  an  experience. 
The  enthusiasm  of  the  people  for  "our  deliverers"  was  pathetic, 
and  we  marched  into  this  beautiful  country,  this  neat  clean 
country,  and  it  should  be  fairly  neat  and  clean,  and  seem  home- 
like, for  almost  every  third  person  here  has  lived  in  the  United 
States  at  one  time  or  another.  As  one  man  said  to  me,  "We  are 
part  of  the  United  States,  for  while  our  standing  army  is  only 
250  men,  there  are  10,000  Luxemburg  men  in  the  United  States 
Army."  The  greater  portion  of  them — I  mean  those  who  have 
lived  in  the  states — lived  either  in  Chicago  or  Denver.  And  we 
come  into  this  land  where  we  hear  our  native  tongue  on  every 
side,  this  land  so  beautiful  that  many  towns  one  quarter,  yes  one 
tenth  the  size  of  Quincy  have  as  great,  or  greater  hotel  accom- 
modations than  Quincy  has  in  order  to  care  for  their  summer 
tourists,  and  sit  down  here  for  eight  days  and  find  it  deadly  dull. 
It's  true.  The  troops  drill,  maneuver,  etc.,  but  there  isn't  any 
zest  to  it;  the  war  is  over,  the  job  is  done,  and  every  man  thinks, 
"Why  not  let  me  go  home  to  my  wife  and  babies,  my  sweetheart, 
my  father,  my  mother,  my  work."  I  still  insist  that  the  American 
is  the  most  willing,  the  most  daring,  the  most  reckless,  the  most 
intelligent,  and  when  trained  the  most  efficient  fighter  in  the 
world  when  there  is  something  to  fight  for,  and  he  is  the  biggest 
pacifist  in  the — world  when  it  is  over. 

(Exit,  double  time,  just  there) 

3:30  a.  m.  January  1,  1919. 

It  isn't  so  darn  dull  after  all.  Right  there  I  had  to  stop,  bolt 
out,  and  see  what  had  broken  loose.  It  Had!!  You  see  they  are 
daily  and  hourly  expecting  a  revolution  in  Luxemburg;  in  fact 
they  have  had  one  or  two  since  we  have  been  here.  Once  the 
whole  army  went  on  strike  for  higher  pay.  So  back  there  when 
I  heard  the  sounds  of  "heavy  firing" — anything  more  than  two 
shots  is  heavy  firing  for  the  newspaper  correspondents — I 
thought  that  the  revolution  had  come,  for  our  troops  have  been 
under  solemn  orders  not  to  fire  a  shot  any  time,  anywhere,  for 

174 


fear  of  precipitating  something.  But  it  wasn't  even  a  revolution. 
It  seems  that  some  of  the  Luxemburgers  who  had  formerly 
lived  in  the  states  had  told  the  rest  of  the  Luxemburgers  that 
it  was  "good  form"  in  the  states  to  make  Rome  howl  as  the 
New  Year  came  in,  and  apparently  every  last  son-of-a-gun  in 
town  had  a  shooting  iron  which  he  proceeded  to  get  out  and 
exercise.  Some  of  our  enlisted  men  got  tangled  up  in  the  general 
enthusiasm,  and  as  Provost  Marshal  it  was  one  of  my  joys  and 
perquisites,  to  stay  up  and  put  them  to  bed. 

These  are  a  most  primitive,  no  a  most  child-like  people.  They 
are  eager  to  learn,  especially  anything  English  or  American. 
They  are  a  questioning  people;  Li  Hung  Chang  never  had  any- 
thing on  them  in  his  search  for  information.  Apparently  they 
are  an  affectionate  people,  for  if  a  good  man  and  his  wife  going 
down  the  street  happen  to  think  of  it,  they  are  quite  apt  to 
walk  along  with  their  arms  about  each  other.  Tonight,  during 
"the  revolution"  two  of  my  military  police  posted  on  a  corner, 
were  greatly  embarrassed  by  two  perfectly  sober  and  respectable 
married  couples  coming  up  to  them,  talking  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  by  the  insistence  of  the  two  wives  that  they  must  kiss 
the  brave  American  soldats.  I  don't  mean  that  these  men  were 
embarrassed  because  the  ladies  wished  to  kiss  them.  On  no,  but 
because  they  were  on  duty,  and  because  I  happened  to  be  present. 
Also  it  occurred  to  me  that  either  I  could  not  qualify  as  a  brave 
soldat,  or  else  I  had  passed  the  bloom  of  my  youth,  for  neither 
of  the  ladies  insisted  on  kissing  me. 

From  some  of  their  legal  methods  I  think  we  could  learn  a 
lesson;  also,  we  could  teach  them  a  thing  or  two.  When  we 
first  came  to  this  town  the  Attorney-General  filed  complaint 
that  American  soldiers,  deserters  from  divisions  which  had 
passed  through  Luxemburg,  had  been  guilty  of  theft.  On  being 
given  descriptions,  my  military  police  went  out  and  gathered 
in  three  of  them.  They  were  given  the  "third  degree"  and  con- 
fessions were  obtained  from  two  of  the  three.  These  confessions 
implicated  three  male,  and  two  female  civilians,  one  of  the 
implicated  men  being  the  champion  pugilist,  sport,  and  chief 
local  political  boss.    So  back  to  the  Attorney-General  I  go  with 

175 


the  information,  only  to  meet  the  announcement  that  the 
evidence  having  been  furnished  by  confessed  criminals  there  is 
nothing  to  do,  as  no  one  knows  whether  these  civilians  are  in 
possession  of  stolen  property  or  not.  Back  I  go  to  my  deserters, 
and  they  tell  me  where  the  stolen  property  was  put,  what  it 
consisted  of,  but  of  course  they  do  not  know  whether  or  not  it 
is  still  there  as  several  days  have  elapsed.  Back  I  go  to  the 
Attorney-General  and  in  as  vague  terms  as  possible,  describe 
the  stolen  property,  and  sign  a  paper — really  an  affidavit — that 
it  is  at  such  and  such  a  place.  Finally  the  judge  gives  authority 
for  a  raid  on  these  civilians.  It  has  taken  so  much  time,  and  had 
had  so  much  airing  that  it  seemed  to  me  someone  was  anxious 
to  have  the  property  safely  removed,  but  as  luck  would  have  it, 
we  do  find  some  of  the  stolen  goods.  Even  then,  the  local  author- 
ities do  not  arrest  the  big  fellow,  but  do  arrest  the  others.  One 
of  the  arrested  civilians  gets  cold  feet  and  squeals,  and  then  they 
pick  up  the  big  fellow,  or  rather  I  get  permission  to  arrest  him 
if  I  can;  it  seems  he  is  a  bad  man,  one  who  always  goes  heeled, 
and  who  shoots  first  and  asks  questions  after.  The  day  we  raided 
his  place  and  picked  him  up  he  was  vehemently  innocent;  first 
he  was  going  to  shoot  any  man  who  tried  to  arrest  him;  the 
sergeant  went  ahead;  then  he  was  going  to  shoot  himself  if  dis- 
graced by  being  arrested,  and  by  his  own  effort,  and  with  con- 
siderable help  from  the  sergeant,  seven  Luger  pistols  were  dug 
from  his  pockets.  They  were  the  palm  size,  the  ones  so  many 
German  officers  carried  and  concealed  after  surrendering,  until 
such  time  when  they  might  be  taken  before  an  allied  officer, 
when  it  was  the  custom  of  the  Hun  to  shoot  first  the  allied 
officer  and  then  himself.  And  now  comes  the  novelty.  The 
deserter — who  is  the  accuser — and  the  big  fellow  are  brought 
in  for  preliminary  hearing.  The  deserter  makes  an  accusation; 
the  defendant  either  denies  or  admits  it.  If  he  denies,  each  is 
questioned  until  a  decision  can  be  reached  on  that  point;  then 
that  point  goes  into  the  indictment,  and  they  take  up  another 
point.  The  result  is  that  when  the  indictment  is  finally  drawn, 
it  is  really  a  joint  admission  of  fact,  and  that  about  all  the  jury 
and  judge  have  to  decide  upon  is  the  amount,  or  degree  of  the 

176 


verdict.     I  might  mention  the  fact  that  lawyers  in  Luxemburg 
are  rather  scarce. 

But  they  are  a  thrifty  people,  ah  yes,  very  thrifty.  Also  like 
the  heathen  Chinee  they  are  child-like  and  bland. 

The  French  franc  is  worth  100  centimes;  the  German  mark  is 
worth  70  centimes.  The  Luxemburgers  use  both  kinds  of  money, 
but  the  German  mark  chiefty.  When  the  Kaiser  and  Ludendorf 
decided  to  go  out  of  business,  Luxemburg  saw  the  German  mark 
was  liable  to  be  unpopular  money,  carrying  also  considerable 
depreciation.  So  they  became  child-like  and  bland,  and  among 
themselves  decided  to  reverse  what  all  the  Government  banks 
in  the  world  had  decided,  and  make  the  mark  worth  100  centimes 
— in  Luxemburg,  for  purely  American  consumption — and  the 
franc  worth  70  centimes.  Of  course  the  Americans  came  into 
Luxemburg  loaded  with  French  francs.  The  result  was  some- 
thing like  this;  "How  much  a  glass  of  beer?"  "50  centimes." 
A  franc  is  offered  in  payment,  and  the  profferer  got  back  a  little 
disc  of  iron  with  a  hole  in  it.  "What  in  Sam  Hill  is  this,  I  gave 
you  a  franc?"  "Yes,  but  a  franc  is  worth  only  70  centimes,  and 
that  is  Luxemburg  money  for  20  centimes."  The  result  was  that 
many  changed  their  francs  into  marks  at  the  rate  of  100  for  70. 
When  on  the  28th  of  December,  I  suppose  when  the  word  was 
passed  around  that  they  had  unloaded  all  the  German  money, 
the  House  of  Representatives,  or  the  Supreme  Court,  or  some 
one,  passed  a  motion  unanimously  that  German  money  is  not 
legal  tender  in  Luxemburg,  but  that  natives  only  can  exchange 
their  German  money  for  francs,  at  the  post  office  in  either 
Diekirch  or  Luxemburg  City.    Can  you  beat  it? 

Well  here  is  one  just  as  bad.  Shortly  after  the  American 
troops  went  to  France  it  became  necessary  to  issue  a  notification 
to  the  French  nation  about  American  money,  for  some  thrifty 
and  enterprising  fellows  were  living  on  the  fat  of  the  land  and 
paying  for  it  in  Confederate  money,  Mex.  money,  and  even 
United  States  Cigar  coupons.    Can  you  beat  it? 

If  this  letter  were  like  wine  it  certainly  would  be  a  good  one, 
for  it  is  properly  aged  due  to  interruptions.  It  has  taken  me  three 

177 


days  to  write  it.  If  nothing  happens,  tomorrow  will  find  me  in 
Germany  trying  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  some  soldiers 
who  robbed  a  castle  on  the  frontier  last  night. 


Came  April,  and  an  order  for  the  commander  of  Trains  to 
inspect  all  animals,  condemn  and  brand  "I.  C."  those  unfit 
for  army  use,  and  sell  all  I.  C.  animals  at  public  auction.  Just 
as  in  the  time  of  Colonel  Lawton  in  the  early  days  of  the  First 
Division,  so  now  the  Commander  of  Trains  was  given  many  odd 
jobs.  In  fact,  at  one  time  while  in  Diekirch,  I  had  five  orders 
reading — "in  addition  to  his  other  duties,  he  will,  etc."  It  became 
a  regular  morning  greeting  with  Captain  Ehart,  "in  addition  to 
your  regular  duties,  you  will,"  and  about  that  time  I  would  be 
on  top  of  him  with  a  spare  boot  or  a  chair. 

The  inspection  of  the  animals  gave  us  252  horses  and  mules 
to  be  sold.  A  Luxemburg  auctioneer  was  engaged;  a  Luxemburg 
banker  was  procured  to  act  as  clerk,  and  to  attend  to  the  col- 
lections, and  in  Ettelbruck  one  day,  and  in  Diekirch  the  next 
these  horses  and  mules  were  sold.  The  highest  price  obtained 
for  any  animal  was  4000  francs  for  a  superb  chestnut  artillery 
horse,  but  superb  as  he  was  in  appearance  he  had  a  bad  case  of 
quittor.  Some  of  the  small  and  sorry  looking  mules  sold  as  low 
as  250  francs,  but  the  mule  was  more  or  less  of  a  novelty,  and 
an  unknown  quantity  in  Luxemburg.  The  252  animals  brought 
a  little  over  215000  francs.  All  animals  were  sold  "as  is."  and 
it  was  announced  that  all  purchases  were  at  the  buyers  risk. 
This  was  necessary  since  several  of  the  animals  were  vicious; 
some  of  the  horses  were  recognized  man-killers,  and  had  records 
in  this  line.  Eleven  horses  were  sold  that  had  never  done  a  day's 
work  of  any  sort  since  coming  into  the  Division;  they  could  not 
be  harnessed,  nor  groomed,  and  when  led  had  to  be  led  at  the 
end  of  a  pole,  or  between  two  men  so  that  the  animal  could  not 
charge  and  bite  or  strike  the  men.  Some  horses  and  mules  were 
balky;  some  were  sick,  diseased  or  disabled. 

One  large,  fine-looking  mule  sold  to  a  farmer  of  Diekirch  for 
800  francs.    He  started  away  with  his  purchase  at  the  end  of-  a 

178 


rope,  but  after  a  couple  of  blocks  the  mule  decided  to  go  to  the 
corral,  or  back  to  the  sale  pen,  or  somewhere,  and  in  order  to  do 
so,  made  up  his  mind  to  get  rid  of  the  Luxemburger  first,  so  he 
bared  his  teeth  and  ran  at  his  new  owner;  the  farmer  left  that 
vicinity  with  considerable  apparent  urgency,  and  the  mule  ran 
down  the  street.  A  couple  of  doughboys  caught  him,  and  return- 
ed, or  tried  to  return  him  to  the  new  owner;  the  mule  apparently 
had  no  dislike  for  the  soldiers,  but  when  the  Luxemburger  came 
near  those  long,  white  teeth  came  uncovered  at  once.  So  the 
owner  offered  the  men  ten  francs  to  take  the  mule  back  to  the 
sales  ring  for  him,  and  on  his  arrival,  begged  piteously  to  be 
allowed  to  put  the  beast  up  for  sale  again.  I  called  his  attention 
to  the  matter  of  purchase  "as  is,"  but  finally  relented  and  told 
him  that  if  he  would  make  his  arrangements  with  the  auctioneer, 
he  might  offer  his  mule  in  the  ring  after  all  of  our  animals  had 
been  sold,  and  he  was  glad  to  accept  some  500  francs  when  it 
was  bid. 


179 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

One  item  of  the  post — armistice  period  which  should  be 
mentioned,  is  the  matter  of  schools.  During  the  life  of  the  A. 
E.  F.  schools — of  all  sorts — abounded.  Mention  has  been  made 
of  the  Staff  College.  Then  there  was  a  school  for  infantry,  a 
school  for  artillery,  one  for  machine  guns;  there  were  gas  schools, 
and  transport  schools.  In  fact,  about  the  only  schools  we  didn't 
have  were  Sunday  schools,  but  if  my  memory  serves  me  correctly 
there  was  a  school  for  chaplains. 

Following  the  armistice,  schools  began  to  flourish  as  never 
before.  The  A.  E.  F.  with  the  assistance  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. — 
established  one  at  Beaune  which  had  some  10,000  students. 
Then  arrangements  were  made  for  French  and  English  uni- 
versities to  take  a  certain  number  of  selected  officers  and  men  as 
students.  Donald  was  fortunate  in  being  selected  as  one  of  the 
one  thousand  to  be  sent  to  British  universities,  and  later  was 
sent  to  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  Scotland.  Some  went  to 
Oxford,  some  to  Cambridge,  and  some  to  one  or  another  technical 
school  both  in  the  British  Isles  and  in  France.  All  this  did  not 
diminish  the  fervor  for  schools  within  the  A.  E.  F.,  of  A.  E.  F., 
and  for  the  A.  E.  F. 

While  with  the  Canadians  I  had  received  most  thorough  and 
satisfactory  instruction  in  the  care  of  animals  and  animal-drawn 
transport.  When  the  Thirty-third  was  in  4th  British  Army  our 
instruction  was  continued  and  advanced  along  these  lines. 
General  Bell  was  an  enthusiast  on  the  matter  of  efficient  trans- 
port, and  on  transport  that  was  strictly  military  in  its  appearance 
and  upkeep.  He  insisted  from  the  first,  that  the  transport  of  the 
Thirty-third  must  be  second  to  no  other  in  the  A.  E.  F.  This 
fell  in  with  my  plans  and  wishes,  for  there  was  always  his  support 
and  cooperation  in  everything  relating  to  improvement  of  the 
transport. 

During  our  months  of  activity  as  a  combat  division,  there  had 
been  given  a  great  deal  of  instruction  to  the  transport  officers 

180 


and  men  of  the  battalion  transport  units.  Every  unit  was  in- 
spected at  least  once  a  month,  and  each  inspection  was  checked 
against  the  previous  one,  for  purpose  of  comparison.  One  rather 
laughable  incident  occurred  because  of  these  regular  inspections, 
and  because  of  a  bit  of  instruction  once  given.  I  was  going  over 
the  transport  of  the  123d  Machine  Gun  Battalion,  and  there 
was  evidence  of  considerable  laxity  on  the  part  of  some  of  the 
company  transport  officers.  I  was  trying  to  make  my  remarks  so 
emphatic,  in  order  to  make  the  instruction  stick  in  the  minds 
of  officers  and  men  that  horses,  harness  and  vehicles  must  be 
kept  clean,  that  I  was  feeling  around  in  my  mind  for  some 
startling  statement  to  give  them.  Finally  it  came  to  me,  and  I 
said,  "you  must  keep  this  transport  so  clean  that  if  I  come  along 
on  inspection,  and  look  at  the  teeth  of  the  mules,  I  will  find  that 
you  have  brushed  them."  Of  course  this  was  exaggeration,  and 
was  said  merely  to  make  an  impression.  It  did.  There  was  one 
young  officer  who  had  been  commissioned  from  a  training  camp, 
who  was  a  bank  teller  in  civil  life,  who  was  so  conscientious  and 
willing  that  he  took  that  remark  in  perfect  seriousness,  and 
afterward  issued  an  order  to  the  men  of  his  transport  that  the 
teeth  of  the  animals  must  be  polished  at  the  regular  grooming 
period,  and  who  tried  to  make  his  men  carry  out  the  order. 

When  we  went  to  the  Troyon  sector,  and  in  the  week  given  to 
"resting,"  I  devised  a  system  of  instruction  to  be  used,  and  while 
in  this  sector  put  the  system  into  effect.  It  was  by  leaflets,  one 
issued  every  third  day  to  each  transport  unit.  This  leaflet 
carried  in  plain  language,  some  subject,  such  as  "the  care  of  the 
feet  of  animals,"  or  the  care  of  harness,  or  the  proper  methods 
of  grooming,  or  of  feeding,  always  giving  the  reasons  why.  Each 
leaflet  was  made  as  simple  as  possible,  and  often  the  wording 
was  purposely  slangy;  simple  language  was  used  so  that  every 
man  might  understand,  and  the  slang  was  incorporated  to  catch 
the  attention,  and  to  relieve  the  lesson  of  the  curse  of  "high- 
browism."  Officers  and  men  were  told  that  they  would  be  held 
responsible  for  a  working  knowledge  of  the  contents  of  these 
leaflets.  I  required  the  transport  officer  of  each  unit  to  read 
this  leaflet  to  his  men  at  the  first  assembly  after  its  receipt, 

181 


and  then  to  post  it  in  a  conspicuous  place  where  the  men  could 
read  it  for  themselves,  discuss  it,  verbally  pick  it  to  pieces  if 
they  wanted  to,  curse  me,  or  do  whatever  they  liked,  but  they 
must  comply  with  the  methods  set  forth  in  the  leaflet. 

About  this  time  too,  there  came  an  inspecting  officer  from 
G.  H.  Q.  to  look  over  our  transport.  He  decided  that  if  he  saw 
the  complete  transport  of  one  entire  regiment,  it  would  be 
sufficient  for  him  to  base  his  report  upon,  as  to  our  divisional 
condition,  so  on  a  two  hour  notice  the  transport  of  the  130th 
Infantry  was  drawn  up  by  battalions  for  him  to  see.  It  is  true, 
some  that  he  saw  was  borrowed  from  other  regiments  and  units, 
because  a  part  of  the  transport  of  the  130th  was  at  such  a 
distance  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  brought  it 
in,  and  had  time  to  groom  the  horses,  clean  the  vehicles,  and 
clean  the  harness. 

The  inspector  was  frank  in  his  amazement  at  seeing  such 
transport;  it  did  look  well.  Following  the  inspection  he  inquired 
the  methods  followed  for  achieving  such  results.  As  luck  would 
have  it,  my  leaflet  system  was  in  full  swing  at  the  time,  so  this 
was  shown  and  explained  to  him.  Again  he  marvelled.  A  few 
days  later  came  an  order  for  me  to  report  to  a  designated  officer 
at  Toul,  bringing  my  scheme  of  instruction  with  me  in  full. 
Following  compliance  with  this  order,  and  some  two  weeks  after 
the  armistice,  came  another  order  to  proceed  to  Toul  for  a 
conference,  and  the  matter  under  consideration  proved  to  be  the 
question  of  the  desirability  of  starting  a  school  for  transport 
officers  within  2nd  Army.  The  result  of  the  conference  was  the 
school  at  Commercy,  which  later  became  notorious  for  all  that 
a  school  should  not  be.  At  this  second  conference  considerable 
attention  was  given  to  my  opinions  after  Colonel  Richmond — 
who  had  inspected  the  transport  of  our  130th — announced  that 
the  transport  of  the  Thirty-third  Division  was  the  best  of  any 
Division  he  had  seen  in  the  A.  E.  F. 

After  the  hike  into  Luxemburg  came  an  order  to  the  Division 
for  all  regimental  commanders,  infantry  and  artillery,  and  the 
commander  of  Trains,  to  proceed  to  Commercy  for  a  course  of 
training  at  the  School  for  Transport  officers.    Knowing  that  this 

182 


school  was  organized  largely  because  of  the  results  obtained 
in  our  division,  and  because  of  the  methods  used  in  our  division, 
and  knowing  that  there  was  nothing  more  up-to-date  to  be 
taught  in  that  school  than  I  had  been  using  in  the  Thirty-third, 
I  decided  to  disregard  the  order.  At  this  time  I  was  provost- 
marshal  as  well  as  commander  of  Trains,  and  inspector  of 
animal  drawn  transport,  and  acting  Motor  Transport  Officer, 
and  all  these  duties  kept  me  busy.  General  Bell  noticed  that  I 
had  not  complied  with  the  order  and  asked  the  reason.  He  was 
told  that  the  school  had  nothing  to  teach  me.  He  smiled  and 
said,  "even  so,  you  will  get  yourself  into  trouble,"  but  no  trouble 
came.  Some  of  the  Colonels  were  so  disgusted  with  the  methods 
of  the  "school"  that  they  left  after  the  first  day;  some  stayed 
several  days,  and  a  few  finished  the  "course." 

There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  a  grave  mistake  was  made 
in  the  methods  of  this  school.  It  is  neither  military,  nor  sensible 
to  set  officers  grooming  horses,  cleaning  out  stables,  wheeling 
manure  in  a  wheelbarrow,  etc.,  and  under  the  direction  and 
subject  to  the  orders  of  non-commissioned  officers  and  "shave 
tails"  who  are  detailed  as  instructors  for  such  work.  One  of  the 
junior  officers  of  the  Thirty-third  who  was  sent  to  this  school 
at  a  later  date,  and  who  was  considerable  of  a  wag,  was  being 
instructed  in  shoeing  a  horse.  He  had  been  given  the  theoretical 
instruction,  and  was  next  given  the  shoes  and  other  necessary 
materials,  and  a  horse  to  shoe.  Getting  a  few  minutes  to  him- 
self, not  under  the  eye  of  the  "instructor"  he  placed  the  shoe 
under  each  foot  of  the  horse,  and  with  the  animal  standing  on 
the  shoes  drove  the  nails  from  above  downward,  thus  nailing 
the  horse  to  the  shoes,  and  also  to  the  floor.  When  he  was 
asked  if  he  had  finished  shoeing  his  horse  he  answered  in  the 
affirmative.  He  was  then  ordered  to  bring  his  horse  out  for  in- 
spection of  the  work,  and  he  replied,  "the  horse  refuses  to  walk." 
This  was  literally  true,  for  while  the  spirit  of  the  horse  may  have 
been  willing,  the  flesh  was  either  too  weak,  or  the  nailing  down 
too  strong.  I  may  say  that  this  officer  did  "kitchen  police"  of  a 
new  variety  for  three  days  to  pay  for  his  prank — he  wheeled 
manure  in  a  wheelbarrow. 

183 


At  the  end  of  the  first  session  of  this  school  I  received  an  order 
to  attend  the  second  session.    This  order  was  also  disregarded. 

This  account  is  not  given  for  the  purpose  of  boasting.  It  is 
neither  advisable  nor  healthy  to  disregard  an  order  when  in  the 
army,  but  by  the  termination  of  that  first  session  of  this  school 
I  was  so  well  fortified  with  facts  concerning  the  inadequacy,  and 
the  ridiculousness  of  the  school,  that  I  coveted  an  opportunity 
of  bringing  these  facts  to  the  attention  of  General  Bullard, 
commanding  2nd  Army,  and  whose  order  had  instituted  this 
school.  General  Bullard  was  a  man  too  practical,  and  too 
sensible  to  allow  such  a  farce  to  continue  if  the  matter  had  come 
to  his  knowledge. 

Let  me  state  also  that  before  the  armistice  period  was  over, 
an  official  communication  came  from  General  Bullard  stating 
that  the  Thirty-third  had  the  best  transport  of  any  in  2nd 
Army.  Before  we  left  Luxemburg,  and  after  the  many  and 
various  horse  shows  in  the  entire  A.  E.  F.,  where  by  a  system 
of  elimination  one  Division  after  another  fell  by  the  wayside, 
a  G.  H.  Q.  communication  came  stating  the  same  thing  for  the 
A.  E.  F.  It  is  an  especial  gratification  to  add  that  the  33rd 
Military  Police  Company  was  awarded  the  prize  for  the  best 
Transport  in  the  Thirty-third  Division. 


184 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

Finally  came  orders  that  would  send  the  Division  to  Brest 
to  embark  for  home.  A  schedule  was  made,  giving  train  times, 
and  making  the  assignment  of  troops  to  each  train.  These 
trains  were  to  leave  from  two  railheads — Ettelbruck  and  Mersch, 
and  two  trains  would  pull  out  each  day  from  each  railhead. 
When  one  remembers  that  a  battalion,  roughly  speaking,  is  the 
passenger  complement  for  an  entire  train,  and  that  there  are 
three  battalions  to  a  regiment,  and  then  that  there  are  odds  and 
ends,  and  smaller  units,  and  supplementary  troops  of  various 
kinds  in  a  combat  division,  one  can  see  that  the  job  of  transport- 
ing an  entire  division  looms  large. 

The  commander  of  Trains  was  designated  as  chief  entraining 
officer,  while  Lieutenant-Colonel  Swaim,  Division  Machine 
Gun  Officer,  was  stationed  at  Mersch  for  this  duty.  Orders 
were  very  strict  as  to  the  behavior  of  the  troops  at  the  time  of 
entraining,  and  of  the  condition  of  the  quarters  which  they 
were  leaving,  and  the  condition  of  the  train-yards,  and  station 
platforms  and  vicinity,  on  their  departure.  Now,  more  than 
ever  before  was  shown  the  natural  tendency  toward  a  let-down 
in  discipline,  and  as  a  corrolary  to  this,  a  natural  result  the 
getting  out  of  hand,  or  from  control,  by  the  men.  One  battalion 
entraining  at  Ettelbruck  was  under  command  of  an  officer  who 
had  made  a  splendid  record,  who  had  been  wounded  on  the 
field,  who  had  been  decorated,  but  who  at  this  time  had  allowed 
himself  to  slip,  and  whose  men  were  thoroughly  out  of  hand.  He 
had  been  named  in  entraining  orders  as  the  responsible  officer 
for  this  train,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  Colonel  and 
Lieutenant  Colonel  were  to  travel  on  this  same  train.  Trains 
consisted  of  American  box-cars  for  enlisted  men,  and  French 
compartment  cars  for  the  officers.  Bales  of  straw  were  supplied 
to  the  box-cars,  a  toilet  was  provided  in  each  car,  and  the 
enlisted  men  could  travel  more  comfortably  than  the  officers 
who,  of  necessity  were  crowded  in  the  compartment  cars,  with 

185 


no  chance  of  lying  down  during  the  journey — and  the  average 
time  each  train  was  on  the  road  for  this  trip  was  eighty  hours. 

This  battalion,  just  mentioned,  marched  down  to  its  train  at 
the  designated  time,  and  went  aboard  in  rather  a  hilarious  manner 
and  condition.  Orders  were  that  once  aboard  the  train  no  officer 
or  man  should  leave  the  train,  except  those  details  used  for  polic- 
ing the  yards,  and  station  grounds  and  platforms.  This  measure 
was  always  necessary  since  the  troops  went  aboard  with  things 
to  eat  and  drink,  and  once  aboard  always  began  at  once  to  eat 
and  drink  them,  and  to  throw  what  they  did  not  want,  or  could 
not  use,  out  of  the  cars. 

Police  details  were  called  for;  the  Major  issued  his  order;  not 
a  man  responded.  The  Major  was  informed  that  the  time  for 
the  departure  of  this  train  was  near  at  hand,  but  that  the  train 
would  stand  where  it  was  until  the  wheels  froze  to  the  rails,  if 
the  necessary  cleaning-up  was  not  done.  He  went  along  the 
train  calling  for  four  men  from  each  car,  and  was  laughed  at, 
jeered,  and  advised  to  go  to  a  warmer  clime.  One  company 
commander  was  found  who  could  still  control  his  men,  so  this 
entire  company  was  called  out  to  do  this  work.  They  had 
scarcely  started  when,  to  my  amazement  the  train  began  to 
put  out.  Of  course  these  men  dropped  everything  and  ran  to 
board  the  train. 

Now  there  was  just  one  man  in  Ettelbruck  who  had  authority 
to  release  that  train,  and  I  was  that  man;  naturally  I  was  not 
only  amazed  but  angry  as  well.  When  the  train  began  to  move 
I  was  about  200  yards  from  the  station;  but  those  yards  were 
covered  faster  than  any  of  my  previous  records.  The  Station- 
master,  a  Luxemburger  of  course,  said  that  an  officer  from  the 
officers  coach  on  the  train,  had  come  to  him  and  said  that  I  had 
sent  him  to  release  the  train.  I  do  not  know  who  that 
officer  was,  and  my  only  basis  for  suspicion  is  that  one  of  my 
military  police  saw  one  of  the  regimental  officers  in  the  station 
just  a  few  moments  before  the  train  began  to  move.  But  that 
train  load — jeering  at  me  as  the  train  pulled  out,  had  left  one 
factor  out  of  their  reckoning — that  road  was  run  on  the  block 

186 


system.  Before  I  had  reached  the  station,  and  had  succeeded 
in  convincing  that  station-master  that  there  was  trouble  in 
store  for  him  if  he  didn't  do  as  I  said,  and  do  it  pronto,  the  train 
had  passed  the  first  semaphore,  but  before  it  had  reached  the 
second  the  station-master  had  pulled  the  board  on  them. 

Then  I  called  the  smallest  and  "sassiest"  military  policeman 
I  had,  and  directed  him  to  walk — not  run,  not  hurry — walk 
down  to  that  train,  then  about  a  mile  from  the  station,  find  that 
Major  and  say  to  him  that  I  ordered  the  train  to  back  up  to 
where  it  started  from;  that  the  Major  was  to  give  this  order  to 
the  engineer,  and  if  the  Major  refused  to  give  the  order,  and 
refused  to  insist  on  its  being  carried  out,  to  arrest  the  Major 
and  walk  him  back  to  me.  The  train  backed  up;  the  Major  and 
I  had  a  little  heart  to  heart  talk;  he  disclaimed  all  responsibility 
for  the  departure  of  the  train;  none  of  the  regimental  officers 
aboard  of  the  train  appeared  to  take  his  part,  to  intercede  for 
him,  or  to  assume  any  of  the  responsibility.  The  necessary 
policing  was  then  done,  and  done  down  to  the  last  cigarette  butt 
and  the  last  orange  seed,  and  the  train  pulled  out  two  and  a 
half  hours  behind  schedule  time. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  that  under  telegraphic  orders  from 
General  Bell — which  orders  were  received  en  route — this  Major 
landed  in  Brest  in  arrest.  This  fact  is  the  more  note-worthy  as 
he  had  been  in  very  high  favor  with  the  General  until  this 
occurrence.  These  recitals  are  of  more  or  less  trivial  matters, 
but  they  show  two  things.  First,  that  there  was  a  relaxation  of 
morale,  even  among  the  officers.  Second,  that  up  until  the  very 
last  moment,  military  discipline,  military  manners,  and  military 
results  were  insisted  upon  by  G.  H.  Q.  The  recital  of  these 
many  things  small  in  detail,  goes  to  show  too,  that  life  in  the 
army,  discipline  in  the  army,  results  in  the  army  are  exactly 
like  life  under  civil  circumstances  and  results  in  civil  environ- 
ment; that  the  high  lights,  and  the  thrills  and  the  stuff  that 
makes  good  reading  matter,  are  after  all  largely  submerged  in 
the  strictly  necessary  and  common  things — the  things  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  taking  as  a  matter  of  course  in  our  business 
or  professional  life,  the  things  we  rarely  speak  about,  but  still 

187 


the  things  that  make  up  the  greater  percentage  of  our  daily 
existence. 

It  may  be  said,  too,  in  corroboration  of  the  determination  to 
"carry  on"  in  a  military  manner,  as  evidenced  by  the  orders 
emanating  primarily  from  G.  H.  Q.,  that  of  these  trains  leaving 
from  these  two  railheads,  the  responsible  officer  aboard  three  of 
them  arrived  at  Brest  in  arrest,  either  because  he  neglected  his 
orders,  or  because  he  was  unable  to  control  his  men  sufficiently 
to  carry  out  his  orders.  There  was  no  excuse  for  a  designated 
officer  aboard  one  of  these  trains  failing  to  secure  observance  of 
his  orders,  and  particularly  so  in  a  case  where  the  regimental 
commander  was  aboard  the  train,  for  I  do  not  believe  the  men 
in  any  unit  were  sufficiently  out  of  hand  to  cause  them  to  refuse 
to  obey  an  order  had  it  been  backed  up  by  the  colonel  of  that 
unit. 

On  the  train  on  which  I  traveled  to  Brest — the  last  train 
carrying  a  contingent  of  the  Thirty-third  Division — a  somewhat 
similar  incident  occurred.  This  train,  so  far  as  the  officer  pas- 
sengers were  concerned,  consisted  of  all  the  odds  and  ends,  the 
left  overs,  of  those  who  for  one  or  another  reason  were  not 
traveling  with  the  units  to  which  they  belonged,  and  with  which 
they  had  been  closely  identified.  They  were  not  so  much  un- 
attached officers  as  they  were  detached  officers.  One  of  these 
men  was  a  very  pompous,  conceited  prig,  who  had  been  at  the 
head  of  a  division  department  at  one  time,  and  who  had  come 
back  to  the  Thirty-third  just  in  time  to  go  home  with  the 
division.  He  outranked  Major  Hendrie  who  was  the  responsible 
officer  for  the  train,  and  undertook  to  criticize,  condemn,  and 
in  general  make  it  unpleasant  for  the  Major.  On  every  count  in 
his  indictment  of  the  Major,  the  Major  was  in  the  right,  but 
because  the  Major  was  out-ranked  he  was  put  in  an  unpleasant 
position.  He  realized  too,  that  he  was  at  a  disadvantage — not 
only  because  of  the  difference  in  rank — but  because  the  other 
officer  had  been  an  officer  at  Division  headquarters,  and  because 
he  still  had  the  ear  of  the  Division  commander.  I  wish  to  say 
this  for  the  Major,  also;  in  spite  of  his  realization  of  these  con- 
ditions he  did  not  ask  my  assistance  when  he  had  every  reason 

188 


to  believe  it  would  have  been  given  if  asked.  But  matters  so 
shaped  themselves  that  opportunity  was  afforded  me  "butting 
in" ;  my  rank  was  greater  than  that  of  the  commissioned  nuisance, 
and  while  as  a  passenger,  I  was  subordinate  to  the  orders  of 
Major  Hendrie  in  the  management  of  that  train,  I  was  not 
subordinate  to  the  other  fellow  in  any  way,  and  I  have  never 
regretted  taking  the  Major's  annoyance  and  perplexity  on  my 
own  shoulders. 

The  trip  from  Brest  to  New  York  was  one  of  sheer  delight. 
The  contrast  between  the  east-bound  and  the  west-bound 
voyages  was  as  great  as  it  is  possible  to  imagine.  Then  the 
frigid  cold;  the  bursted  water-pipes;  the  flooded  apartments; 
the  long,  tiresome  voyage;  the  days  following  each  other  bringing 
us  nearer  and  nearer  to  risk,  to  danger,  and  possibly  death. 
Now  the  sunshine  of  late  May,  the  society  of  American  naval 
officers;  the  knowledge  that  the  war  was  over,  and  that  each 
day  brought  us  that  much  nearer  home  and  those  we  longed 
so  much  to  see. 

My  assignment  for  the  voyage  will  always  seem  to  me  to  have 
been  an  especially  fortunate  one,  for  I  was  named  as  the  senior 
military  officer  for  a  contingent  of  1300  officers  and  men  to  be 
returned  by  the  United  States  cruiser  Charleston.  Of  course 
this  vessel  had  never  been  designed  as  a  troop  transport;  of 
course  she  did  not  have  the  palatial  appointments  of  a  Leviathan, 
but  she  did  afford  us  comfort  and  camaraderie,  and  every  thing 
that  seemed  at  all  essential.  To  officers  and  men  who  had  lived 
in  billets,  in  dug-outs  and  in  fox-holes  for  a  year  or  more,  she 
seemed  to  contain  every  requisite  one  could  demand. 

The  Charleston  was  the  flagship  of  the  cruiser  fleet,  and  as 
such  contained  the  fleet  Admiral's  cabin.  On  going  aboard 
and  meeting  Captain  Ridgeley  who  commanded  her,  he  sug- 
gested that  as  the  Admiral  was  not  on  board,  and  could  not  come 
on  board,  that  he  saw  no  reason  why  I  should  not  occupy  the 
Admiral's  quarters.  So  here  I  was  with  my  own  private  bath, 
my  own  private  bedroom  with  a  brass  bed,  and  my  own  private 
sitting  room  with  its  capacious  easy  chairs  and  lounges,   and 

189 


even  a  large  mahogany  desk,  which  Captain  Ridgeley  said  the 
Admiral  never  used.  But  there  was  one  very  embarrassing 
incident.  Long  before  this  I  had  been  reduced  in  my  personal 
baggage  to  my  bed-roll  and  a  valise.  My  clothing  was  of  the 
most  meagre  quantity,  and  chiefly  of  quartermaster  quality. 
Such  things  as  pajamas,  for  instance,  had  long  since  become  a 
weariness  to  the  flesh,  and  socks  were  something  to  be  worn 
until  either  the  holes,  or  a  slight  remaining  sense  of  personal 
dignity,  required  throwing  them  away  and  procuring  new  ones. 
I  mention  these  things  to  emphasize  my  feelings  when  Captain 
Ridgeley's  Filipino  valet  came  to  me  and  said  that  if  I  would 
point  out  my  luggage  to  him,  he  would  have  it  brought  up,  would 
open  it,  put  my  "lingerie"  in  the  dresser  drawers,  and  would 
press  and  hang  up  my  dress  uniforms.  And  my  lingerie  was  on 
my  back  and  my  dress  uniforms  were  over  the  lingerie.  I  don't 
think  I  blushed;  I  believe  I  have  outgrown  that  delightful 
girlish  attribute,  but  for  a  moment  I  wished  that  that  valet  was 
— well,  over  board  or  anywhere  else. 

On  this  voyage  home  Captain  Ridgeley,  who  was  a  close 
observer,  and  who  was  making  his  maiden  trip  with  the  Charles- 
ton as  a  troop-transport,  said  one  day,  "'Colonel,  I  cannot  under- 
stand these  officers  and  men  at  all;  I  had  supposed  that  after 
all  you  have  gone  through  that  the  ship  would  be  an  inferno  of 
noise  and  deviltry;  that  the  men  would  be  up  to  all  sorts  of 
pranks.  Instead  of  this  these  men  are  quiet,  abnormally  quiet, 
making  no  noise,  playing  no  pranks,  apparently  interested  very 
little  in  what  is  going  on;  they  really  appear  apathetic  to  me." 
He  did  not  remember,  or  appreciate  that  these  men  had  very 
recently  run  the  entire  gamut  of  all  human  emotions;  that  they 
had  suffered  physically;  that  they  had  died  many  mental  deaths; 
that  they  had  seen  their  buddies  torn  to  pieces  at  their  side, 
or  had  suddenly  discovered  that  they  had  disappeared  entirely 
from  in  front  of  their  very  eyes ;  that  now  they  were  removed  from 
the  atmosphere  of  discomfort  and  danger  and  pain,  to  one  of  quiet 
safety  and  comfortable  peace;  that  in  reality  they  were  dazed, 
and  had  not  had  time  to  readjust  themselves  to  peace  conditions 
and  peace  environment.  This  same  thing  was  noted  in  some 
individual  cases  long  after  they  had  returned  home. 

190 


Everyone  takes  it  for  granted  that  men  going  to  war  must 
take  some  time  to  adjust  themselves,  or  to  be  adjusted  to  war 
requirements.  I  believe  it  is  more  difficult,  and  a  thousand  times 
more  complex  bringing  about  the  readjustment  of  the  individual 
following  his  personal  participation  in  war — the  securing  of  a 
peace-time  balance,  if  you  please — than  it  was  to  adjust,  or 
change  that  same  individual  from  the  normal  equilibrium  of 
peace  to  the  proper  equilibrium  for  a  satisfactory  man-at-arms. 

The  following  is  taken  from  "The  Charleston  Daily  Roll," 
the  paper  published  daily  while  at  sea,  by  the  officers  and  men 
of  the  U.  S.  Cruiser  Charleston.    The  date  is  May  22,  1919. 
To  the  Officers  and  Crew  of  the  U.  S.  S.  Charleston: 

The  officers  and  men  of  the  U.  S.  Army  wish  to  express  to  you 
their  thanks  for  all  that  you  have  done  to  make  this  "Homeward 
Bound"  voyage  so  pleasurable. 

We  appreciate  the  honor  of  having  been  your  guests,  and  we 
thank  you  for  the  courtesy  and  the  kindness  that  you  have 
extended  on  every  hand. 

We  leave  you  carrying  with  us  the  memories  of  a  most  en- 
joyable acquaintance,  and  with  every  best  wish  to  each  one  of 
you,  Au  Revoir! 

Charles  D.  Center,  Colonel,  U.  S.  A. 

The  commanding  officer  of  the  Charleston  wishes  the  Roll  to 
convey  to  Colonel  Center,  his  officers  and  men,  his  appreciation 
of  the  privilege  of  returning  to  their  native  country  this  dis- 
tinguished unit  of  the  33rd  Division,  and  to  assure  them  that 
their  presence  on  board  made  pleasant  his  first  trip  in  the  trans- 
port service.  His  every  good  wish  accompanies  this  gallant 
aggregation  of  men,  and  he  hopes  that  their  expectations  of  the 
joys  of  the  home-coming  may  be  surpassed  in  its  realization, 
and  that  the  future  of  each  individual  may  contain  health, 
happiness  and  success. 

Commander  F.  E.  Ridgeley,  U.  S.  N.  Commanding. 


191 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

Came  then  New  York  and  Camp  Mills,  and  the  four  days 
here  were  interminable.  Practically  nothing  to  do  except  to 
see  one  friend  disappear  in  one  direction,  and  another  going 
somewhere  else.  "When  shall  we  meet  again"  was  in  every 
mind,  for  it  was  likely  that  many  of  us  would  never  meet  again. 
The  Division  that  went  across  as  officers  and  men  of  Illinois 
returned  with  officers  and  men  from  many  states.  Necessary 
replacements,  and  necessary  changes,  "over  there"  took  no 
heed  of  the  home  region  of  the  one  newly  arrived  to  fill  the 
vacancy.  The  ties  that  had  been  formed  by  those  coming  in 
close  contact  with  one  another,  those  depending  on  each  other, 
those  learning  to  know  each,  other  in  times  of  adversity  and 
stress  are  ties  not  easily  broken,  and  here  at  Camp  Mills  those 
from  the  north,  or  from  the  south,  those  from  the  east  or  the 
far  west  left  the  men  of  Illinois,  and  the  Illinois  division  they 
had  served  so  well.  Only  by  those  who  have  experienced  it,  can 
the  feeling  of  sadness  and  loneliness  which  comes  with  such  a 
parting,  be  fully  realized.  Here  we  were,  all  going  home,  all 
rejoicing  in  that  thought,  and  yet  there  was  this  strong  current 
of  sorrow  running  through  our  hearts. 

On  to  Chicago  and  that  parade  before  the  multitudes;  that 
meeting  with  relatives  and  friends  not  seen  for  months;  that 
continuation  of  the  journey  to  Camp  Grant,  and  the  formalities 
of  demobilization  and  discharge.    Fini  le  guerre. 

I  have  been  asked  many  times  "were  you  ever  afraid?" 
There  is  but  one  answer  to  this  question  when  speaking  per- 
sonally, and  speaking — »I  believe — for  every  man  who  was  in  the 
front  lines,  and  that  answer  is  an  unqualified  YES.  The  man 
who  stares  pain,  possible  mutilation,  possible  death  in  the  eye, 
is  afraid.  That  same  man  may  not  be  frightened,  or  scared,  or 
timorous,  but  in  the  sense  of  being  apprehensive  he  is  afraid, 
and  I  believe  he  is  more  afraid  of  the  possibilities  than  he  would 
be,  or  is,  of  the  certainties.    It  is  no  trouble  to  get  men  to  lead 

192 


a  "forlorn  hope,"  or  go  against  a  machine-gun  nest  single- 
handed;  to  pass  through  a  barrage  in  order  to  pick  up 
a  wounded  comrade,  and  then  bring  him  back  through  the 
barrage  again.  Frequently  men  had  to  be  restrained  from  doing 
these  very  things.  In  other  words,  the  greater  the  chances,  the 
more  certain  the  possibilities  of  destruction,  the  less  the  fear. 
Very  few  men  were  frightened,  or  scared  in  the  ignominious 
sense;  every  man  will  tell  you  that  he  felt  worse  standing  on  the 
fire-step  of  the  trench,  waiting  to  go  over — standing  there  in 
comparative  safety — than  he  did  after  he  jumped  over  the 
parapet  and  started  forward  with  the  shells  bursting  around 
him,  and  the  machine-gun  bullets  zing-zinging  past  him. 

In  one  of  the  Australian  outfits  was  an  officer  who  was  accorded 
the  meed  by  all  his  brother  officers  of  being  the  bravest  man  in 
the  Australian  forces.  He  was  an  extremely  handsome  man,  of 
large,  impressive,  cordial  and  yet  dignified  personality.  When- 
ever his  battalion  was  under  fire,  whether  the  men  were  going 
forward  or  not,  he  would  leave  the  trench  or  bomb-proof,  and 
walk  up  and  down  on  the  parapet,  or  if  the  men  were  out  in  the 
open,  he  would  go  out  far  ahead  of  his  men.  One  day  there 
came  an  opportunity  when  I  could  compliment  him  on  his 
absolute  fearlessness,  and  to  my  surprise,  he  said,  "I  am  going 
to  tell  you  something  I  have  never  dared  to  tell  to  my  best 
friends;  I  do  that  because  I  am  afraid  and  because  of  my  fear 
that  if  I  do  not  do  it  my  men  and  officers  will  discover  that  I  am 
afraid,"  and  I  am  still  willing  to  agree  with  his  brother  officers 
of  the  Australian  Corps  that  this  officer  was  the  bravest  man  in 
the  Australian  army. 

The  control  of  fear  in  oneself  is  also  a  relative  matter,  de- 
pending on  many  things.  Men  will  crack  under  strain.  This 
fact  was  perhaps  more  noticeable  among  officers  than  among 
men,  for  the  officer  carried  a  greater  load  of  responsibility  than 
the  man;  then  too,  by  virtue  of  being  inferior  in  numbers,  and 
in  a  sense  being  more  in  the  limelight  than  the  enlisted  man,  and 
being  more  under  observation  by  some  superior  officer,  a  case  of 
cracking  under  strain  could  not  easily  escape  observation  when 
that  case  developed  in  an  officer.    While  in  the  Argonne,  a  2nd 

193 


lieutenant  and  his  platoon  were  under  very  heavy  fire;  three 
times  shells  burst  so  close  to  this  officer  that  each  time  he  was 
thrown  down  by  the  concussion,  or  by  the  eruption  of  earth 
from  underneath  his  feet;  each  time  he  was  unhurt;  each  time 
he  regained  his  feet  smiling  and  ready  to  "carry-on;"  there  came 
a  fourth  time  when  a  shell  treated  him  in  precisely  the  same 
way,  no  injury,  no  marks  on  him  other  than  the  mud  from  the 
earth's  eruption,  but  this  fourth  time  he  came  to  his  feet  a 
totally  demented  man;  he  gibbered  like  a  driveling  idiot;  he 
had  cracked  under  the  strain,  and  in  the  concussion  of  that 
last  shell. 

All  bravery  is  a  relative  matter;  panic  is  something  which 
cannot  be  explained.  Now  there  was  Stone;  this  isn't  his  name 
but  it's  just  as  good  to  use  here  as  any  other.  He  had  been 
my  driver  for  all  those  trying  days  following  September  26 
when  the  American  Army  hopped  off  in  the  Meuse-Argonne. 
He  was  a  rattling  good  driver  too;  I  mean,  he  knew  a  car,  and 
he  didn't  get  rattled.  A  twenty  or  twenty-five  mile  gait  at  night 
without  lights,  and  possibly  in  a  fog  as  well,  didn't  bother  him 
a  bit.  It's  true,  we  went  into  the  ditch  occasionally,  or  into  a 
shell  hole,  but  once  on  the  road  again  and  his  nerve  was  un- 
impaired. 

On  this  particular  night  we  were  in  Cumieres;  less  than  three 
thousand  yards  away  was  the  Hun  line.  Because  of  necessity 
"G-I"  had  designated  this  place  as  the  advanced  dumping 
station  for  rations  and  ammunition  for  the  Division.  Of  course 
it  was  shelled;  the  Hun  knew  as  much  about  this  wretched  village 
as  we  did;  he  had  held  it  repeatedly  during  the  past  three'years, 
and  the  only  roofed,  comfortable  structure  then  existing  was  a 
Hun  pill-box,  mostly  underground,  and  with  a  roof  good  enough 
for  anything  except  a  direct  hit,  and  this  pill-box  was  the  office 
and  quarters  for  the  division  ammunition  officer  and  his  detail. 

Of  course  it  was  raining,  and  the  hour  was  about  two  A.  M. 
Stone  and  I  were  there  because  it  was  our  only  chance  to  get  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  something  to  eat  during  the  night.  The  am- 
munition officer  was  there,  and  two  other  officers  who  were  on 
their  way  to  the  extreme  front  had  also  dropped  in,  ensnared 

194 


by  the  odor  of  coffee  no  doubt.  The  car  I  was  using  was  less 
than  fifty  feet  from  the  entrance  to  this  pill-box.  A  blanket 
door  closed  the  entrance,  i.  e.  there  was  the  door  and  also  a 
blanket  door  as  a  protection  against  gas.  We  were  sitting 
round  the  table,  on  bunks  and  chairs  and  on  the  floor,  and 
Cumieres  as  usual  was  being  shelled.  Of  a  sudden  we  heard 
a  change  in  the  note  of  the  shell  explosions  and  someone  said, 
'They  are  putting  gas  over." 

Almost  at  once  the  gas  alarm  was  sounded  by  the  machine 
gun  companies  on  the  slope  of  the  hill  just  outside  the  village. 
Every  one  reached  for  his  mask  to  see  that  it  was  in  working 
order,  and  some  of  the  enlisted  men — probably  because  they 
were  in  the  presence  of  officers — obeyed  orders  implicitly  and 
put  their  masks  on  at  once.  No  one  was  at  all  alarmed,  and 
most  of  them  were  but  faintly  interested.  Suddenly,  with  a 
cry  that  was  half  shriek  and  half  sob,  Stone  clapped  both  his 
hands  over  his  mouth;  he  wept  and  swayed  back  and  forth,  and 
for  a  few  moments  we  could  get  nothing  coherent  from  him; 
he  seemed  in  absolute  despair  and  the  strange  part  was  that 
none  of  us  realized  why  he  had  become  panic  stricken,  but  at 
last  we  got  from  him  the  cause  of  his  fright  and  grief;  he  had 
no  gas  mask.  "Where  is  your  mask?"  "In  the  car,"  and  the 
car  less  than  fifty  feet  away.  I  have  always  chuckled  over  the 
sudden  gasp  and  exclamation  which  one  of  the  junior  officers 
present  made  when  he  heard  that  answer;  "You  double  dashed 
fool,  put  mine  on  and  go  get  yours,  or  run  out  and  hold  your 
breath  till  you  get  back."  The  emphatic  way  in  which  it  was 
said  seemed  to  bring  Stone  to  himself  for  he  darted  out  of  that 
pill-box  and  was  back  again  with  the  mask  in  several  seconds  less 
than  nothing. 

Speaking  of  gas  incidents  brings  to  mind  another  occurrence. 
A  division  was  in  line  for  the  first  time.  The  rear  echelon — 
within  which  was  the  Judge  Advocate,  the  Assistant  Division 
Surgeon,  the  Division  Ordnance  Officer  and  others — remained 
with  the  rear  echelon  until  the  Division  Commander  ordered 
them  up.  The  Judge  Advocate  and  the  Division  Ordnance 
officer  were  proceeding  forward  in  the  same  car;  it  was  about  a 

195 


thirty  kilometre  trip,  and  was  being  made  at  night.  While 
on  the  way  up  the  driver,  a  seasoned  old  bird,  gleaned  from  the 
conversation  on  the  back  seat  that  each  one  of  these  officers 
had  his  wind  pretty  well  up;  they  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other 
in  telling  the  horrible  tales  which  had  been  told  to  them  about 
the  awfulness  of  the  front  line. 

Just  then,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  German  decided  to  shell 
some  of  the  back  areas;  he  knew  where  roads  and  important 
points  were,  and  thought  it  well  to  give  them  a  little  strafe. 
While  none  of  the  shells  came  in  their  immediate  vicinity  the 
two  officers  decided  it  best  to  cease  progress  and  told  the  driver 
to  stop  on  the  road.  Now  as  intimated,  this  driver  was  a  wily 
old  bird;  he  knew  the  front,  and  he  knew  his  passengers.  As  the 
car  stood  there  in  the  darkness  some  shells  came  over  into  a 
little  village  about  one  kilometre  ahead  of  them;  the  driver 
recognized  these  as  gas  shells;  so  did  the  division  ordnance 
officer.  This  made  it  easy  for  the  driver;  his  car  was  equipped 
with  the  old  carbide  system  of  lighting.  Saying  nothing  to  his 
passengers  he  turned  on  his  lights,  of  course  without  lighting 
them,  and  offered  a  silent  prayer  that  the  gas  from  the  carbide 
would  float  rearward  to  be  smelled.  Sure  enough  it  did;  all 
there  could  smell  something,  and  one  of  the  two  on  the  rear 
seat  asked,  "what  is  that  unusual  odor,  gas?"  And  the  driver 
answered  in  the  affirmative.  Then  there  was  a  frantic  scramble 
for  masks,  and  to  the  horror  of  the  officers  there  was  but  one 
mask  for  the  two,  but  the  driver  had  his  respirator.  With  one 
accord  the  two  officers  said,  "we  will  take  your  mask;  you  get 
out  and  run  to  the  rear  to  a  zone  of  safety.''  This  suited  the 
driver  who  beat  it  to  the  rear,  lay  down  and  had  a  quiet  smoke, 
leaving  the  judge  advocate,  the  ordnance  officer,  the  car,  the 
masks  and  the  gas  to  themselves.  Of  course  this  story  leaked 
out;  it  was  too  good  for  the  driver  to  keep,  and  we  finally  checked- 
up  the  story  by  telling  each  one  of  the  officers  that  the  other 
had  'snitched'  on  him,  and  had  accused  him  of  taking  the 
driver's  mask. 

Nor  are  all  men  alike  in  the  manifestations  of  their  fear,  nor 
in  the  causes  of  their  fear.  While  with  a  division — not  of  the 
American   forces — there   appeared    a    case,    an    extremely    sad 

196 


case  of  uncontrollable  fear,  of  fright,  of  timidity,  of  something, 
which  on  its  face  appeared  base  and  ignominious,  but  which  to 
me  will  always  be  considered  to  have  been  a  personal  idiosyncrasy 
for  which  the  individual  was  no  more  responsible  than  he  was  for 
the  color  of  his  eyes  or  the  shape  of  his  teeth.  He  was  an  enlisted 
man,  twenty  years  old,  and  had  been  in  the  service  for  two  years. 
The  first  time  he  was  under  heavy  shell  fire  he  was  not  compelled 
to  leave  the  trenches,  and  nothing  unusual  was  discovered  in  his 
behavior.  Later  he  went  forward  in  the  face  of  a  withering 
machine-gun  fire  and  conducted  himself  well.  Still  later  his  unit 
was  sent  out  under  heavy  shell  fire,  and  he  broke  for  the  rear. 
This  action  on  his  part  brought  punishment,  but  of  a  com- 
paratively light  nature.  He  returned  to  the  ranks  and  to  duty. 
Following  this  came  an  occasion  when  he  distinguished  himself 
by  attacking  a  "strong  point"  single-handed,  or  "on  his  own;" 
this  brought  citation  in  orders,  and  a  recommendation  for 
decoration.  Still  later  he  was  under  shell  fire  again  and  this  time 
he  ran  for  safety.  Because  of  the  recent  citation  for  bravery, 
and  because  there  seemed  to  be  some  fairly  reasonable  excuse 
for  his  breaking  to  the  rear,  this  last  lapse  was  over-looked. 
Again  he  came  under  shell  fire  and  again  he  lost  control  of 
himself.  This  time  it  happened  so  openly,  and  was  so  apparent 
to  so  many  that  no  excuses  could  avail.  He  was  tried  and 
sentenced  to  be  shot.  On  the  morning  of  his  execution  he  was 
the  coolest  and  most  contained  man  present;  he  talked  amicably 
and  rationally,  without  any  bitterness;  he  was  entirely  un- 
perturbed; he  admitted  the  justice  of  his  sentence,  and  really 
seemed  to  welcome  it;  he  remarked  that  his  conduct  had  been 
despicable,  that  the  example  to  his  fellows  could  not  be  over- 
looked or  forgiven;  he  said  that  while  he  had  no  feeling  of  fear 
for  rifle  fire,  or  gas,  or  machine  guns,  he  knew  that  if  he  was 
allowed  to  go  on  living  he  would  repeat  his  offense  if  he  ever 
came  under  shell  fire  again,  and  remarked  "When  the  shells 
begin  to  burst  near  me  my  legs  will  do  nothing  else  but  take 
me  to  the  rear."  And  he  stood  up  jauntily,  happily  and  un- 
afraid before  the  firing  squad,  and  paid  for  something  for  which 
— in  all  probability — he  should  have  been  pitied  instead  of 
blamed. 

197 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

But  what  did  we  get  out  of  all  of  it?  Was  the  game  worth 
the  candle?  Did  we  meddle  in  something  that  was  none  of  our 
business?  One  man  will  say  that  what  we  got  out  of  it  was  the 
biggest  business  depression  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Another 
will  refer  to  the  vast  amount  of  unemployment  and  unrest. 
Another  will  mention  the  200,000  men  more  or  less  physically 
incapacitated  by  the  war.  Perhaps  there  will  be  one  who  will 
say  that  "we  made  the  world  safe  for  democracy."  Each  one 
has  his  own  opinion,  an  opinion  made  up  from  what  he  can  see 
or  feel  from  where  he  happens  to  stand,  and  perchance  he  can 
see  no  other  view  even  if  it  is  presented  to  him. 

Let  us  go  back  a  little  farther  in  taking  the  inventory,  and 
ask  ourselves  "Were  we  justified  in  entering  the  war?"  If  we 
cannot  satisfactorily  convince  ourselves  on  this  point,  all  answers 
to  the  query  "What  did  we  get  out  of  it"  must  be  in  the  negative. 
Were  we  justified  in  entering  the  war?  To  this  I  can  see  but  one 
answer.  Even  if  there  had  been  no  possibility,  near  or  remote, 
of  the  German  Empire  ever  attacking  us  we  were  justified  in 
what  we  did.  We  were  justified  because  of  the  loss  of  American 
lives  and  American  property — a  loss  that  had  been  going  on  for 
two  years,  and  because  the  German  Empire  made  no  whole- 
hearted and  lasting  effort  to  stop  such  losses.  We  were  in 
exactly  the  same  position  as  the  house-holder  who  sees  the 
burglar  in  his  house,  sees  him  killing  his  family  and  taking  his 
goods.  We  were  justified  by  that  cry  of  humanity  coming  from 
Belgium  and  France,  countries  which  were  being  devastated, 
and  whose  nationals  were  being  starved,  persecuted  and  slain. 
W^e  were  justified  because  common  decency,  and  an  enlightened 
civilization  were  at  stake,  and  because  it  was  imperative  that  the 
system  of  government  which  must  necessarily  follow  if  Germany 
was  allowed  to  win  the  war,  must  be  prevented  at  any  cost. 
To  my  mind  we  were  justified  long  before  we  entered  the  war. 
In  my  opinion  our  delay  in  "coming  in"  can  never  be  satis- 
factorily explained  to  the  English,  the  French,  the  Belgians  or 

198 


the  Italians,  nor  to  our  own  consciences,  for  this  delay  meant 
the  loss  of  more  lives  of  the  nationals  of  these  different  countries, 
and  more  devastation  and  ruin  for  at  least  two  of  them. 

It  was  not  altogether  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  an  American 
officer  in  France  late  in  1917  and  early  in  1918.  (In  the  months 
of  January,  February  and  March  of  1918)  and  while  we  were 
being  treated  with  every  courtesy — it  was  no  uncommon  thing 
to  be  told  by  officers  of  high  rank  in  one  of  the  allied  armies, 
"You  have  come  too  late;  why  did  you  delay?  Why  have  you 
let  our  men  be  killed  needlessly,  when  if  you  had  come  in  sooner 
these  men  might  have  been  saved,  and  the  outcome  of  the  war 
assured  favorably?"  Or  perhaps  the  statement  would  be  like 
this:  "A  year  ago  you  would  have  been  welcome;  now,  your 
coming  will  merely  prolong  the  struggle  a  few  weeks  or  months, 
and  we  will  have  to  pay  a  still  greater  penalty  for  the  pro- 
longation." There  was  a  well-established  opinion  that  in  the 
spring  drive  of  the  Hun  in  1918  he  would  be  successful,  and 
history  now  tells  us  how  nearly  right  that  opinion  was.  There 
is  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  that  if  the  Hun  had  reached  Paris  in  the 
spring  drive  of  1918  the  war,  so  far  as  the  French  would  have 
been  concerned,  would  have  been  over;  that  in  such  an  event 
England  would  have  had  to  "carry-on"  alone  in  an  effort  at 
self-preservation,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  serious  discussion  as 
to  what  would  be  the  outcome  for  the  handful  of  American 
forces  then  in  France,  if  Paris  fell  and  the  French  sued  for  peace. 

But  with  all  these  things  in  mind,  what  did  we  get  out  of  the 
war?  The  first  item,  and  one  of  tremendous  importance  for 
generations  to  come  is  that  we  proved  again  that  the  American 
Nation — slow  to  take  offense,  dilatory  perhaps  in  her  methods 
up  to  the  final  moment — will,  when  sufficiently  aroused,  fight, 
and  fight  hard.  Every  time  the  world  is  shown  this  fact  we  have 
taken  out  an  insurance  policy  against  aggressions,  against 
trespass,  and  against  international  irritations;  we  have  solidified 
our  world  position;  we  have  increased  our  international  credit. 

The  second  count  should  be  that  in  "coming  in"  we  aligned 
ourselves  with  the  forces  opposing  despotism,  and  the  harsh 
and    selfish   designs   of   a   highly    polished    but   truly    barbaric 

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militarism.  We  placed  ourselves  on  the  side  of  enlightenment, 
of  world  progress,  of  insistance  on  the  desirability,  and  the 
need,  and  the  right  for  developing  a  world  where  justice,  charity, 
and  the  teachings  of  Christ  shall  be  recognized  as  the  highest 
law  and  the  greatest  force.  We  placed  ourselves  firmly  on  the 
side  of  a  "bill  of  rights"  for  mankind,  and  these  things  are 
worth  while. 

Of  course  the  sequelae  of  the  war  are  unpleasant;  the  war 
was  unpleasant  too.  It  was,  and  is  to  be  expected  that  violent 
tremors  will  be  felt  throughout  the  whole  of  the  social  and 
commercial  fabric.  This  was  a  world  war,  the  whole  earth  was 
involved,  directly  or  indirectly,  and  any  upheavel  in  any  part 
of  the  world's  surface  affects  all  parts  of  that  surface  in  greater 
or  lesser  degree.  But  as  the  shimmering  rings  of  the  surface  of 
the  disturbed  waters  widen  and  widen,  until  finally  the  last  one 
comes  to  rest  after  its  gentle  lapping  of  the  shore  and  the  lake 
returns  to  its  original  smoothness  again,  so  do  the  disturbances, 
and  the  upsettings  of  war  gradually  disappear  from  among  the 
people  of  the  earth. 

If  there  was  one  impression  above  all  others  left  by  the  world 
war,  it  was  the  feeling  of  the  infinitesimal  value  of  human  life 
as  compared  to  the  scheme  of  life,  growth,  development  and 
evolution  of  the  world  and  its  affairs.  In  private  and  secluded 
business  and  professional  life  one  develops  the  idea  of  one's 
extreme  value  to  the  world.  The  war  entirely  destroyed  this 
idea  for  every  man  who  had  an  active  place  and  part  in  the 
war.  Whether  this  contempt,  or  reduced  valuation,  or  this 
change  in  opinion  relative  to  the  value  of  the  individual  under 
whatever  circumstances,  and  in  whatever  position  he  may  be 
found,  will  affect  the  nations  for  their  good,  or  for  their  detriment 
must  be  settled  in  the  future. 


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APPENDIX  UA" 

During  the  time  of  life  on  the  staff  of  the  Corpuscle,  the 
writer  made  the  attempt  most  young  men  make — an  effort  at 
poetry.    The  subjoined  verses  disclose  the  result. 

WHEN  THE  DOCTOR  COMES 

Gran'pap's  sick,  an'  all  of  us  are  feelin'  purty  blue; 

Fer  he's  a  gittin'  purty  old,  an'  weak  an'  feeble  too. 

We're  all  a'mighty  fond  ov  him;  th'  day  w'en  we  cant  see 

Th'  old  man  sittin'  by  th'  fire,  Th'  Bible  on  'is  knee 

Is  goin'  to  make  us  orfle  sad.    Pap  sets  an'  twirls  'is  thum's 

A  waitin'  fer  th'  gate  to  click  w'en  th'  doctor  comes. 

Bill  seen  'im  drivin'  up  th'  road,  so  Pap  he  ups  an'  goes 
To  tie  th'  horse,  an'  blanket  'im,  fer  th'  doctor'll  be  mos'  froze. 
An'  th'  doctor's  voice  is  jest  es  strong  an'  cheerful  ez  can  be, 
An'  he  says  as  how  he  thinks  th'  snow'll  last  all  through  Feb'ary. 
But  Pap's  voice's  harsh,  an'  sorter  gruff,  an'  he  acks  so  kinder 

glum; 
But  he's  cheerfuler'n  he  was  before,  fer  th'  doctor's  come. 

An'  w'en  he  comes  inter  th'  house  Mam  taked  'is  coat  an'  hat, 
An'  puts  a  cheer  up  by  th'  fire;  th'  same  place  where  he  sat 
The  last  time  he  was  here.    An'  w'en  he's  warm  he  walks 
Right  inter  th'  spare  bedroom;  an'  he  an'  Grandpap  talks, 
An'  th'  rest  ov  us  is  listenin'  an'  keepin'  purty  mum; 
But  things  is  goin'  to  go  all  right,  fer  th'  doctor's  come. 

But  he  stays  in  thur  so  turribul  long  th'  figgits  gits  hold  of  Mam; 
An'  mebby  me  too,  fer  she  boxes  me,  an'  tells  me  not  to  slam 
Th'  door.     But  Gran'mam  she  jest  sits,  an'  a  tear  rolls  down 

'er  face, 
An'  she  says,  so  sorter  soft  an'  low,   "0  Lord,  show  us  thy 

grace." 
An'  that  makes  a  nut  come  in  my  throat,  an'  I  feel  orfle  bum, 
But  things  is  goin'  to  go  all  right,  fer  th'  doctor's  come. 

201 


Nen  he  comes  out,  an'  looks  around,  an'  Mam  she  kinder  braces 
An'  asks  how  Gran'pap  '11  git  along;  an'  nen  th'  doctor'  face  is 
Jest  th'  han'somest  ye  ever  seen,  an'  he  says  "There,  there, 

don't  fret, 
I  shouldn't  wonder  but  Gran'pap  '11  bury  us  all  yet." 
An  nen  another  tear  rolls  down,  an'  falls  on  Gran'mam's  thumb, 
But  she  looks  orfle  happy  now  th'  doctor's  come. 


202 


RETROSPECTION 

If  you  want  to  know  the  joys  of  this  old  earth, 

If  you  wish  to  sip  the  nectar  of  the  gods, 

If  you  care  to  cultivate  a  gentle  mirth 

And  offer  thanks  for  being  more  than  clods, 

You  must  come  as  Phoebus  finishes  his  task 

When  the  din  of  day  is  changed  to  drowsy  humming, 

And  the  cows,  in  single  file  are  slowly  coming, 

Where  Willie  stands,  with  cup  in  hand,  to  ask; 

As  Mother  fills  the  pail,  foam  light  as  silk, 

And  Willie  takes  a  good,  long  drink  of  the  warm,  sweet  milk. 

In  days  of  life  some  sunsets  are  not  bright; 

The  drowsy  twilights  short  and  shorter  grow. 

The  play  of  youth  becomes  a  steady  fight, 

And  sorrow's  stream  grows  wider  in  its  flow. 

Yet  Nature  is  unchanged  from  days  of  yore ; 

On  country-side  the  cows  are  homeward  swinging; 

The  birds  at  sunset  to  their  nests  are  winging; 

The  strong  man's  heart  turns  to  his  boyhood's  door; 

To  Mother  with  the  pail,  foam  light  as  silk, 

When  Willie  took  a  good,  long  drink  of  the  warm,  sweet  milk. 

When  on  the  downward  trend  to  dust  again, 

The  grasshopper  a  burden  to  the  strength, 

Sitting  almost  in  darkness  among  men, 

Hearing  the  sweep  of  Charon's  oar  at  length; 

May  dim  and  misty  sight  peer  through  the  gloom 

To  see  once  more  the  vision,  Mother  bringing 

The  pail  of  milk;  to  hear  her  singing; 

That  sight,  that  sound  once  more  before  the  tomb; 

WThen  Mother  filled  the  pail,  foam  light  as  silk, 

And  Willie  took  a  good,  long  drink  of  the  warm,  sweet  milk. 


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